Shadows Within
by Vhetin1138
Summary: Hawke is no novice when it comes to hunting abominations. But when a strange discovery leads Merrill to make an unwitting pact with a powerful and ancient demon, Hawke must face her most dangerous opponent yet: the young Dalish mage herself. Rated M for violence, language and sexuality. The first part of "The Price of Defiance" Trilogy.
1. A Different Kind of Story

_Author's Note: I was underwhelmed with the state this story was in when the actual nuts-and-bolts writing was finished. So I've started to go through and make an editing sweep that will hopefully clean up the messier chapters. Hopefully by the time I'm through, the story will be in its full finished state. _

_Enjoy the updated material!_

* * *

**Kirkwall (Present)**

Varric Tethras settled himself into the hard stone chair and let out a sigh as he adjusted the glove on one hand. The Seeker had been called out of the room an hour ago, disappearing with one last glare and a huff of frustration, and had yet to reappear.

When it was obvious she was not going to return in a timely manner, he began to while the minutes away by staring off into the darkness and pondering just how much he could stretch the truth of his tales before she caught on to him. He'd stopped trying to guess when he'd spun up a satisfying yarn about Hawke being hired to steal the viscount's crown. He couldn't wait for the Seeker to return so he could test out the tale.

As it stood, though, he wasn't sure the bad-tempered woman was _ever_ going to return.

"Chantry people," he muttered, shaking his head. "Serves me right for turning myself in, I guess."

He wondered what the special was tonight at the Hanged Man. Probably more "Chef's Surprise" with mystery meat. It was probably something greasy, unsanitary and – like everything else at the Hanged Man – deliciously addictive. He found his stomach grumbling at the thought.

But finally he heard heavy boot steps outside the door and shifted in his uncomfortable seat, watching the dim outline of the door with a ready smirk already plastered across his wide face. With a loud creak, it swung open and Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast stepped through once again, a hefty copy of _The_ _Tale of the Champion_ under one arm.

"Back so soon?" he quipped, raising an eyebrow. "And here I thought you'd forgotten about little old me."

"In case you hadn't noticed," the armored woman growled, "there is a war being waged just beyond your doorstep. Your story is not the only one I am forced to hear, though it is the one I find the most vital."

Varric chuckled. "Oh Seeker, you do know how to flatter an author."

"Shut up," she hissed. "I want to hear more."

"Well where did we leave off?" he pretended to think hard over the matter for a few moments. Then he clapped his hands and said, "Ah yes, I think we had just gotten to the part here Hawke and I—"

"No," the Seeker interrupted, narrowing her brown eyes. "We can return to that at a later date. I have a more pressing request."

"That's… disappointing." Varric pursed his lips in irritation. This wasn't the way the interrogation had worked so far; the Seeker had listened to his story in full, only interjecting to call bullshit on his more telling exaggerations. "I seem to recall telling you that I wasn't going to be able to skip to the end. You need to hear the whole story."

"It is a different, yet not unrelated, topic," she assured him. Her armor scraped and shifted as she raised her book and began thumbing through the pages. "Reports of the Champion's early years within the city claim that she had extensive dealings with abominations: mages under demonic control. Is this true?"

"If by _dealings_ you mean _lighting them on fire at every opportunity_, then I'd say your reports are spot-on."

"Sadly no. These reports claim that the Champion not only _didn't_ kill abominations on sight, but worked to ensure they escaped Chantry justice. And yet I find no mention of such an occurrence in your account."

Varric rubbed at the stubble on his wide chin. "That's not ringing a bell."

She threw the hardbound book into his lap and folded her arms dangerously. "That's what I thought. You disappoint me, Varric."

The dwarf shrugged as he picked up the heavy tome, opening it to the page containing the stylized artwork of each of Hawke's companions, himself included. He traced a finger over the images: Aveline, Daisy, Broody, Rivaini, Blondie… they were all there, immortalized in ink and paper. And at the center of it all was Hawke, with her raven black hair and silver-hued eyes, the right side of her face divided vertically by a long, ropy scar.

He knew exactly what she was talking about, unfortunately, but he'd be damned if he let her know it. The information was too sensitive, too dangerous in the wrong hands. And he was almost certain that Seeker Pentaghast qualified as "the wrong hands."

He felt his heart fall at the images. So many friends he'd probably never see again. So many happy memories spoiled by what happened later. Just seeing the still images on the page brought back memories of their mad group passing the nights in the Hanged Man, drinking and laughing or playing cards. His eyes closed and he shook his head, thinking, _Shit…_

He finally looked up to the Seeker, who was tapping one armored boot impatiently. "Sorry, your Imperiousness, but I just don't remember what you're talking about. If it's not in the book, it must not have been important enough to mention."

"And what if I told you," the Seeker murmured, "that my reports came from someone who was there?"

I obviously wouldn't believe you. Just who would that be?"

"_Me_."

It was no easy feat to take an author by surprise. As a storyteller, Varric was accustomed to predicting plotline twists and unexpected revelations from half a story away. But _this_ was a twist he hadn't seen coming. He sat back in his chair, chuckling to cover up his surprise, and folded his arms over his stomach.

He hadn't known there was someone else in the room, and he didn't take kindly to surprises. So when a thin, graceful figure melted out of the shadows next to Pentaghast and folded her arms behind her armored back, Varric had to fight to make sure his ever-present smirk _remained_ ever-present.

Even in the dim light, he could see a suit of scaled-down Seeker armor similar to Cassandra's gear; all metal studs and Chantry starbursts. But this new woman was wearing a dark hood that obscured her features, throwing her face into shadow. But even in the dim light, he could just make out a few strands of bright red hair. That and the distinctive Orlesian accent, marked by the slightest hint of a lisp, gave Varric all the information he needed to identify the newcomer.

He shook his head at the sight. "Well, well. If it isn't our own elusive Sister Nightingale."

The woman drew back her hood and smiled at him; surprising, considering the circumstances. Her blue eyes were warm, but cautious. "Hello Varric."

"I wish I could say it was good to see you, Leliana," he said, "but with all that's happened…"

"Come now," she chided him. "I am not your enemy, Varric. After all that's happened, is that really so hard to believe?"

"Sister, it's only because I like you that I didn't immediately respond with, _Fuck you_."

The redhead winced. "Very well."

"Why are you here?"

"I am the Nightingale," she replied. "The Left Hand of the Divine. After what happened at the Gallows, it is only natural that I was assigned to once again infiltrate Kirkwall."

Varric sighed. "So you jumped on the bandwagon? You're hunting Hawke too?"

"Regrettably, I am. But Cassandra and I are also in charge of reporting Hawke's story to the Divine. And while I like to think I knew her better than most, I was not in a position to see _everything_ that happened during her rise to power."

She folded her arms. "When given the assignment, I suggested that Cassandra hear the whole story. From someone who does not wish to belittle her reputation."

"So naturally you decided to kidnap Hawke's friends?"

"No. Only you."

Varric rolled his eyes. "That makes me feel so much better."

"The abominations," the Seeker pressed. "What happened?"

Varric decided to play dumb a little bit longer. "I swear on Andraste's bountiful, heaving bosom that I have no idea what either of you are talking about. Hawke fought plenty of demons during the decade she lived here, but she didn't _help_ them. She was a smuggler, not an idiot."

"Watch your language," the Seeker warned. "And stop trying to sound innocent. This event occurred years ago, just after the Champion's return from the Deep Roads."

Still, he shook his head. "Abominations after the Deep Roads? Doesn't ring a bell."

"Stop _lying_ to me!" the Seeker shouted, her patience snapping. She stomped forward and grabbed him by his collar, hauling him up out of his seat until they were almost nose to nose. "Either you tell me the whole story, or I'll settle for the incomplete truth from Sister Leliana! Hawke will be _executed, _Varric. She will be tried and condemned like any other rebel apostate. Do you truly want that blood on your hands? _Her _blood?"

Leliana's voice was calmer. "Varric, we can't help Hawke if we don't know her story. You are the only one willing to tell us."

He grunted as the Seeker shoved him back into his chair and stepped away. "What about Aveline? She's still in the city, last I heard."

"Guard Captain Vallen is far too busy overseeing the safety and preservation of the city to be questioned. Additionally, I believe she responded negatively to the concept of being interrogated."

"Did she now?"

"I believe her exact words were, _Read the bloody book if you want to know what happened. Otherwise, leave me alone._"

"Wish I'd thought of that line. If I'd only known that all I had to do was stomp my feet and you'd scurry off…"

"The guard captain is performing an integral duty rebuilding the city." Cassandra's lip curled. "_You _were found passed out from drink in your accommodations at the Hanged Man."

"Technically I turned myself in," he pointed out.

"Claiming you did us a favor by not fighting back does not qualify as turning yourself in."

Leliana raised her hands, seeking to appease them both. "Please," she murmured. "This bickering is getting us nowhere."

Pentaghast glared at him. "Your other compatriots are either beyond our reach or hidden too well to expend time and resources to find. So you are the one who will tell us. If you do not, no one will, and we will be forced to base our accusations on hearsay. And we both know that Hawke's reputation is not what it once was."

Varric sighed and thought, _Why do I always get caught up in shit like this?_

He couldn't let Hawke take yet another beating for a crime she never committed. If it meant breaking his promise, then so be it. "Fine, I give up. I assume you're talking about that mess with Daisy?"

The Seeker nodded. "That's precisely the time."

"And Songbird has already filled you in on her side of the story?"

"Like I said," Leliana murmured, "I was there."

"You weren't," Varric insisted. "Not for all of it. I remember that mess. Every last little sordid detail."

"Just because you didn't see me," she said with a small smile, "doesn't mean I was not present. However, I agree that I did not see the entire event myself."

Pentaghast made a quiet noise of distaste, though her voice was softer when she spoke. "Given what you have told me of the Champion already, I feel… compelled to call my preconceptions into question. If what is said about Hawke's involvement with demons is untrue, I am obligated to reconsider my position on capturing her. If you tell me, you will be doing no disservice to her or her allies. Quite the opposite, in fact."

"I promised Hawke _and_ Daisy I wouldn't tell that story again. I don't know about you, but I honor my promises, Seeker."

"Yes," the Seeker said, "I recall your comments about your crossbow. However, this is a different matter than what any of you expected. And if you do not tell me what you know, I will be forced to be much harsher in my line of questioning."

Varric rubbed his eyes. "Seeker, this story didn't have anything to do with anything. Daisy made a mistake, then Hawke and the rest of us fixed it. It didn't have any repercussions later down the road and it didn't have any effect on anyone else. It was just a one-time nightmare that was over and done before I could figure out what the hell was going on."

The Seeker was starting to get angry again. She clenched an armored fist and said, "I will not ask again, dwarf. Hawke is _gone_. So are Merrill and Anders and anyone else who would have been involved."

"Anything you say here will only help Hawke in the future," Leliana pressed, her voice as smooth and soft as always. She was definitely the good one in the whole _good-guard, bad-guard_ play the two were staging. Varric knew that could change at the drop of a silver.

He let out a soft curse and slumped back against his seat. What real use was there in arguing? If he refused, Pentaghast would just beat it out of him. Needless to say, he didn't fancy adding "_once got beaten to a pulp by an angry bear-woman,"_ to the author biography on his books.

"Okay fine," he relented. "You win. What do you want to know?"

"Start from the beginning. I want to know everything."

"All right," Varric said, "but you have to return the favor this time."

"Oh?"

Varric nodded, pointing a finger at Leliana's hooded form. "Nightingale, _you_ have to tell how you got involved in all of this. I want to hear your side of the story as well."

"Why?" Pentaghast hissed.

He shrugged and settled back in his chair, folding his fingers into a steeple. "Call it professional curiosity. From one storyteller to another."

Leliana nodded. "Very well. You have my word."

Pentaghast made a small noise of disapproval. "It's settled, then. Start talking."


	2. Hawke is Drunk

**The Hanged Man, Lowtown Kirkwall**

"_Hawke_!"

She grunted and shoved the prodding hand way. Seconds later it returned, and she scowled and made a noise of indignation somewhere between a whine and a snarl. "Piss off. I'm tryin'a… get some sleep."

"You'll forgive me if I'm forced to question your choice of bedding, Princess."

She blinked sleep from her eyes, struggling mightily to shake off the hazy sluggishness of alcohol and exhaustion. Her pale gray eyes were dull and bloodshot as she struggled to focus on the bar around her. She frowned and grimaced against the blaring light of the tavern as a short, fuzzy figure came into her view.

"Varric? 'S that you?"

He swatted her upside the head again. "The Hanged Man is a pretty laid-back place, Hawke, but I don't know how the tender is going to react to seeing you draped across the bar."

Blinking and rubbing her eyes, Hake looked down to find that she was indeed lying half-sprawled across the bar top. A bottle of hardy Kirkwall vodka was toppled on the counter in front of her. A very empty bottle.

_Maker's balls… _She grimaced and pushed herself up, staggering a little as her stomach lurched and her vision swam dangerously. Varric caught her by the neck of her armored robes and hauled her upright, a hand against her shoulder.

"Come on, Princess," he said. "Let's get you upstairs. Then you can at least be drunk in peace."

Hawke nodded sleepily and shambled her way to the stairs at the back of the pub. She made an effort to snatch up a fresh bottle of vodka on her way, tucking it under her arm so it couldn't slip from her slack fingers. The staircase was definitely a challenge, and even Varric's considerable strength couldn't stop her from tumbling a few times. By the time she reached the top of the stairs, she was crawling on all fours, the sturdy dwarven arbalist all but dragging her.

Hawke grinned as they finally wandered into Varric's complimentary suite, as always fully stocked with plenty of food and drink. The fire was roaring, making the room warm and cozy, and the conversation from the bar downstairs had died back to a pleasant rumble beneath the floorboards. She flumped down in a nearby chair and immediately reached for a nearby mug.

Varric watched her pour another drink with a raised eyebrow. "Rough day?"

Hawke's voice gurgled up from her throat in a dark slur. "Somfin' like that. Same way fuckin' Loth'ring was _rough._"

He watched her fumble with the bottle, spilling a good deal of vodka onto the table before it hit her glass. "I would have thought you'd still be drinking to celebrate that Deep Roads haul. A sea of gold should buy you at least half a month before another rough day, right?"

She responded with a snort. "Can _rough…_ describe th' day when… when your lash remainin' sibling goes a-prancin' off to sign up with th'same people who wanna see you dead?"

She downed the mug in one long swig, then poured herself another. "_Rough_… thatsh someone tryna kill you. _R-Rough_ is somebody tryna… I dunno, tryna kill somebody you love. But I… I can _handle_ rough. Rough is fuckin' _easy_."

"That's… certainly dramatic." He watched the woman chug down a second full mug of drink. "But you still aren't making much sense, Hawke."

She finished her drink and glared into the empty mug. "Carver wen'and joined 'em Templurs. While we were down…" she hiccupped and pointed vaguely at her feet, "down'ere in the Deep Roads."

Varric's eyes widened. "He didn't."

"Ohoho he _did_," she laughed bitterly. "An' I… I let him go. An' join the Templurs."

"And… you're not happy with that?"

"What d'you think?" she said with a surly glare. She gestured to the ropy scar that stretched down the right side of her face, from forehead to chin. "Didjou know a Templur gave me 'is thing? I was _eight_ years old, playin' in… in them fields back in F'relden. Was having fun lighting little… little pinecones on fire with my brain and watching 'em pop. A passing Templur heard the poppin' and came to investigate. When he saw me, he jus' drew his sword and attacked. No warning an' no investigation. No trial. He jus' jumped at me and tried to lop my head off."

She traced a finger absently over the long, dark scar, a sad look coming into her bloodshot eyes. "Father had'ta use healin' magic on me for days, 'fore it finally starded'ta heal up fer good. Mother tried'ta be nice, but… but she always thought it was ugly. Made _me _ugly."

She shook her head with a scowl, the sad look disappearing. "Fam'ly had to go on the run agin after that, er risk bein' caught. We traveled months 'fore feelin'… feelin' safe enough to settle down without the Templur's Mabari bloodhounds trackin' us."

She glanced up at him through bleary vision. "_Tha_'s the group 'at Carver ran off to. _Those_ are the bucket-brained sods he's gonna be calling 'is _new_ brothers an' sisters."

"I… didn't know all that," Varric admitted truthfully. Despite his connections within the city, he hadn't exactly had luck learning about Hawke before she had come to Kirkwall. It wasn't for lack of trying: as much as she had accomplished since entering the City of Chains, before the Blight she'd been nobody. Just a simple Ferelden farmgirl with some distant and long-forgotten ties to Kirkwall nobility.

Now, the entire city was positively rumbling with the news that the Amells – or what was left of them – had returned and sought to reclaim their estate in Hightown. The reappearance of the near-extinct noble family was a surprise no one had seen coming, Varric included.

He didn't particularly care about houses or bloodline or tradition, despite traditional dwarven fascination with the subject. He was a businessman, and that meant his interest lay largely in profit. So news that Marian Hawke, Ferelden refugee and adventurer, was actually nobility was valuable to him only as leverage in finding high-class fences to deal with the haul they'd taken from the Deep Roads. That, seasoned liberally with his own flair for the dramatic, had convinced several buyers across the city that Hawke and her company were profitable investments both now and far into the future.

But as he watched Marian pour herself another tall mug of vodka, he felt unease worm its way into his gut. In his experience, Carver Hawke was an aggressive, sullen man who was easily prone to selfish and headstrong actions. All it would take was one slip-up, one angry rant about his apostate sister, and everything Varric and Hawke had sought to build since they'd forged their partnership would go up in flames – probably both literally and figuratively. Everyone in Kirkwall knew the punishment for conspiring with apostate mages.

"But Carver's not like that Templar from your childhood," Varric reminded her, seeking to calm both her doubts and his own. "The fact he didn't immediately spill his guts about you to the Chantry proves that. He'll keep your secret."

"An' if that dosn't last?"

"Come on, Hawke," Varric sighed, easing himself into the seat across from her. "Bartrand was a bastard, but that doesn't mean everyone's brothers are out to stab them in the back. You really think you can't trust Carver?"

She sighed and cupped her mug between two hands. "I… I don' know. I-I wan' him to be _happy_. An' he was so _proud_ they assepted him. So do I hate 'im for joinin' up with… with the people out ta kill or 'nslave p-pipple like me? Or do I be happy for him fin'lly findin' his place in this… this asspot of a city?"

Varric reached across the table and grabbed a mug of his own. "That's the kind of answer you can only find at the bottom of that bottle."

She tipped the mug to him in a halfhearted toast. "Way aheaddaya."

He poured a sizeable serving of his own and drained it in a single gulp. He grimaced at the taste; how was Hawke still conscious after downing so much of this swill?

"So what do you plan to do?"

"Fer now?" Hawke grimaced, settling back in her seat with a scowl. "Nufing. I gotta… gotta focus on getting' dear old Mum to… to a safer parta town. If Carver wants'a cut n run now, tha's fine. But _I_ don't jus' _abandon_ the people I care about."

Varric stared into the depths of his own mug for a while. Marian filled the time by drinking more and more, until she could barely hit the cup while pouring. Finally, he shook his head and decided to brighten up the conversation. "_I_ have some good news for you, at least."

"What?" she muttered, her voice echoing from inside her cup.

"I've found a buyer for the rest of the haul we brought out of that thaig. It's a _gold mine_. We're going to be the richest adventurers in all of Kirkwall."

When she didn't respond with the enthusiasm he wanted – or _any_ enthusiasm for that matter – he cleared his throat and quickly changed tactics.

"Say… what do you say we head downtown and visit Daisy while you're here? I'm sure she'd like some company."

"Murrill? Why?" Hawke had begun to sway dangerously, a sure sign she needed to stop while she was still conscious.

"Because," he said patiently, "it does you no good being cooped up in here drinking yourself to death on cheap whiskey. And from what I've been told, Daisy hasn't exactly been getting out in the fresh air herself. Might do you both some good to get out for a bit."

Hawke sighed and set aside her mug. "But Varric," she said, "I _like_ this place. Is warm, an' comfortable, and… an' my fingers feel fuzzy…"

She began nodding off, her bloodshot eyes fluttering closed. Varric quickly clapped his hands and she started, blinking quickly. "What? Sorry, I mus've… fallen…"

"Hawke, don't doze off on me. I need to-"

Varric sighed with an exasperated frown. Hawke's shoulders slumped and her eyelids drooped again, her head lolling forward and thumping against the tabletop as she passed into once more into unconsciousness.

_Paragons save me._

* * *

The world was suddenly flooded with ice and Hawke let out a shocked scream, sucking in a mouthful of frigid, filthy-tasting water. She struggled, pawing at the surface of the water and struggling against the strong hand that was holding her head under.

Thankfully as soon as she resisted, the pressure lifted and ripped her head free from the water to gulp down a deep breath of dank Lowtown air. She whirled around wildly for her attacker, but saw only Varric hopping away before her flailing could get water all over his expensive leather duster. He had an all-too-telling smirk on his face.

"Varric!" she shouted, spitting dirty water. "You… you… What the _hell_ is wrong with you?"

The dwarf shrugged. "I told you; we're going to see Daisy. And an up-and-coming noblewoman like yourself shouldn't be seen wandering around Lowtown drunk. So I sobered you up the only way I could."

Hawke grimaced and wiped her soaking wet face. Turning around, she saw a line of horses staring at her quizzically, tied to a hitching post and clustered around a water barrel filled with dark, foul-smelling water. She fixed Varric with another glare.

"The water trough? _Really_?"

"It was either that or throw you into the Waking Sea," he replied with a shrug. "Figured this one wouldn't be as likely to attract attention."

She grudgingly sighed and lit a low-level fire spell in each hand, using the heat to dry off her face and hair. She kept one eye on the street, making sure no one could see her wielding magic. "You could have at least warned me."

"For what it's worth," he said, picking up his trusty crossbow from where it was resting near the hitching post, "I did warn you. It's not my fault you were too drunk to hear me. Too busy singing filthy songs and throwing up."

She grimaced. "Really?"

"Not really. You were just unconscious most of the time." He slung Bianca over his shoulder, settling the hefty weapon into the custom-made sling across his back. "Just be glad it was me who found you in the Hanged Man and not Isabela."

She snorted as she finished drying her hair. She batted away one of the horses sniffing her and trying to nip at her sleeve. The fire magic in her hands flickered out with a shower of sparks. "If Isabela had found me," she said, "I would have probably woken up in her bed and not face down in a horse trough. More embarrassing, but also more comfortable."

"I promise next time I'll find you a higher class of horse trough, Princess."

"If you do," she shot back, "I'll bury you up to the neck out on the beach and watch the tide come in. I wouldn't even need a very big hole."

Varric winced with a grin. "Ouch. Low blow, Hawke."

"That's the only kind that'll hit you."

He let out a gravelly laugh and said, "So are you finished with the hair care? Ready to visit Daisy?"

She sighed and finished pulling her jet-black hair back into a functional ponytail. "All right, you win, Varric. I'll lead the way."


	3. Meeting Merrill

**Lowtown, outside the Alienage**

Business in Lowtown was booming as the sun climbed to its highest point in the sky. Traders and merchants scattered all throughout the streets peddling their wares. Mercenaries banded together in shady alleyways, glaring out at passerby, talking business, and sharpening their swords. A few thieves darted here and there, but after almost a year and a half in Kirkwall, Hawke grown to recognize their wily, wily ways. She avoided them where she could and made sure to keep her hand on her coin pouch when she couldn't.

The market stands that lined the border to the alienage were just as busy. There were people everywhere, talking in hushed tones about the most recent city gossip. Apparently the Arishok, leader of the Qunari refugees camped out at the docks, had recently told the viscount he had no intentions of leaving for the foreseeable future. That had tensions high across the city and – fortunately for the market traders – high tensions meant people were more willing to part with their coin. Hawke saw people stocking up on medicinal herbs and potions, shields and armor, and especially weapons.

"Things definitely seem edgy around here," she commented to her companion as they wandered. "And here I thought we'd be showered with praise throughout the city for our good fortune."

Varric snorted. "You must not be that familiar with good fortune then. When other people get a sudden overabundance of coin, most get jealous about it. Others try and capitalize on the opportunity."

"And which one are you?"

"The capitalist, for sure," he replied. "I'm glad I decided to invest in you, Hawke; it paid off for the both of us."

"And that's all I am to you?" she said, pouting at him. "An investment?"

He chuckled. "I'm not sure how many businessmen you know, but I can assure you not many of them would be gracious enough to shove their drunk investment's head in a horse trough."

"Well then I feel so very lucky you're the one who decided to take an interest in me," she replied, rolling her eyes. She still stunk of alcohol and horse dung and would need a thorough bath to regain some semblance of hygiene. But thankfully the stink of Lowtown drowned out her own odor.

The elven alienage was crowded, noisy, and stinky as always. The elves of the city lived in the slums, herded off into a walled and barred section of Kirkwall that was undoubtedly the worst real estate in the Free Marches. There were puddles of stagnant water everywhere, dilapidated buildings lining the streets, and elven beggars on every street corner.

But despite the alienage's squalor, it seemed the bright sun and warm weather had drawn the city elves outside as well. The diminutive slum-dwellers were everywhere: talking and laughing beneath the branches of the Tree of the People that towered over the entire area, bartering for cheap trinkets from human merchants, or simply sitting on the edges of the rooftops and watching the people pass below.

It seemed there was some elven holiday occurring, as brightly colored, festive banners had been draped across the run-down houses that lined the streets. Locals were selling trinkets or food along the edges of the streets and, despite the dejected nature of the area, everyone looked happy and content. Most didn't even give Hawke or Varric a second glance; the two had traveled through the area visiting Merrill before, and most of the locals had grown accustomed to their presence even if they did not welcome it.

Merrill's home was situated in a dirty apartment building near the northern quadrant of the alienage, in the square that housed the gigantic Tree of the People. To the elves who lived there it was the most prestigious part of the slums. Even so it had been sadly easy for Hawke to pay for her friend to stay there, even with her meager allowance of coin before the Deep Roads expedition.

Hawke knocked on the heavy wooden door to Merrill's building, watching a group of elven children race past, laughing and shouting. Varric had to jump back to avoid being trampled by a number of children who were taller than he was. "Hey!" he called after them. "Watch where you're stomping! Little monsters…"

A few moments later the door opened to reveal Merrill herself, her braided hair unkempt as always and her bright green eyes sparkling. She was dressed in a simple, loose green robe and had a fist full of crumpled parchment in one hand. Her feet were bare like usual, and she had her staff (which they referred to as a walking stick when in public to avoid Templar scrutiny) slung over one narrow shoulder.

She blinked in surprise, then smiled happily at the sight of the two. "Hawke! Varric! I hadn't expected to see you two here! It feels like _ages _since you last visited! It's so good to see you and…" She stopped and wrinkled her nose. "Wait, what smells like horse?"

Hawke shot another glare at Varric. "It's a long story."

Merrill grinned. "Oh, but I do like long stories. They seem so much more important than the little ones you hear people telling their children, don't you think? Like Varric's stories about the Grey Wardens, or about that Andraste lady you _shemlen_ are so fond of, and…"

She trailed off, rubbing her forehead. "And I'm rambling again. Please, come upstairs. I'll make you some tea."

Merrill's apartment didn't have any windows, so inside it was hot and stuffy. Still, the place was cozy enough, and had a kind of rustic charm Hawke enjoyed. Most of the apartment was empty of furniture or other trappings, save for essentials like a table and a bed.

However, since coming to Kirkwall, Merrill had developed a keen fondness for books. As a Dalish Keeper's apprentice, she'd learned to read at an early age, but it didn't' seem like she'd had much of an opportunity to do so. Now that she'd spent time away from her clan, almost every available surface was covered with books, scrolls, or old carvings.

Merrill took one look at the clutter and instantly turned bright red. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to be so messy. I've just been doing some research and I lost track of time. The books that Fenris has been giving me from his mansion are so fascinating, but they do tend to pile up."

She hurried off. "Just give me a moment and I'll put the tea on. At least I will if I can find the teapot. And the tea. I know I just saw it not five minutes ago…"

Varric set Bianca next to the door, then moved closer to the darkened fireplace and settled himself into a vacant chair, putting his feet up on a nearby stack of books. He rested his hands behind his head and looked to Hawke.

"Now isn't this better than wallowing back at the Hanged Man?"

"_Wallowing_ wasn't the plan," she said, settling into another seat nearby and rubbing her forehead. The effects of her drinking were beginning to show now, and her temples were aching with a low, pulsing throb. "You can't wallow if you've drunk yourself into a stupor."

"You have a point, I guess. Still, I'm not sure you would have lasted much longer draped across the bar in there. Someone would have taken your coin pouch at the very least."

Hawke laughed, then groaned and held her head even tighter. "And here I thought we traveled in such trustworthy company."

Merrill rushed back into the room, wringing her hands and staring shamefully at her bare feet. "I can't seem to reach the teapot. It's way up high on top of the dresser, and I can't get to it. I could stand on a stack of books, but I don't want to fall…"

"It's fine, Daisy," Varric reassured her. "I never was much of a tea drinker anyway."

"I don't know how it could have gotten up there; _I_ wouldn't have put it there. But can I get you anything else? Some water, perhaps? Or some food? On second thought… you probably shouldn't have the food, forget I said anything."

"It's all right, Merrill," Hawke chuckled. The elf's worried ramblings were strangely endearing, but Hawke did always worry that the little Dalish would someday pass out from sheer nervousness. "We're just here to talk."

"Oh good," Merrill said with an explosive sigh. "I'm good at talking. Much better than being a good host."

She pulled over a chair of her own and took her place next to them, bouncing a little in excitement. She glanced to Hawke and smiled happily. "I wanted to thank you, Hawke, for those flowers you sent last week. They did wonders brightening up the place, but I'm afraid they didn't survive long. Flowers here don't seem to be as resilient as the ones in the wild. And I'm not sure I got the right empty pot like you said. Maybe a different shape would work better?"

"An _empty_ pot?"

"_Flowers_?" Varric said.

Hawke blushed a little and glanced away from the dwarf's questioning gaze. "It was a… a gift, to help her feel more at home."

"Yes, and I tried to get them to feel better with magic, like I used to with flowers in the wilds," Merrill said, "but it didn't really work. They just kept wilting worse and worse."

"Did you water them?"

Merrill blinked. "Water them? Um…"

Hawke glanced back to Varric. "Merrill… you do understand that when flowers are removed from the wild, you need to give them water to grow? They don't get rain to water them like they usually do."

"Well, of _course_ I know that," Merrill murmured, fidgeting. "But I kind of… forgot. I never really helped the herbalists back with the clan. And all the ingredients the clan might have needed were abundant in the wilds. We never needed to cultivate anything."

Then she nodded quickly to herself. "The next batch I'll make sure they get their water. I'll use a spell to make it rain over them like it does out in the wilds, so I won't forget."

"No!" Hawke said. She quickly rubbed her pounding forehead, regretting talking so loudly. "No, that'll get everything else wet and cause water damage. Just water it from a cup or something."

"Oh… well yes, I suppose that's much simpler. I'll try very hard not to forget next time, I promise."

She smiled at them and said, "So? What's been happening since you two got back? I've barely seen either of you since you got back from the Deep Roads. It's been weeks! And why does Hawke still smell like horse?"

"She was in the dumps about her idiot brother joining the Templars," Varric said inspecting the sole of one of his boots. "Had to get her straightened out after she got the news."

"The Templars?" Merrill echoed. "Oh, how nice for Carver! They all have such nice, shiny armor. Think of how _handsome_ he must look!"

"You do realize Templars exist to hunt apostate mages, right?"

"Oh, but not Carver. He grew up with apostates! He's probably just doing it for the shiny armor. Or the fancy quarters in Hightown. I've tried asking some of the Templars in the city how they get their armor so shiny, but they never talk to me. You'd think they were made of stone."

"Wait, you've been chatting up Templars?" Hawke felt her heart plummet into her gut.

Merrill blinked innocently. "A few, yes. Just the ones that come to the alienage from time to time on patrol. The blonde one, Cullen, mostly. He's nice. Or… polite, at least."

Varric sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Daisy, we've had this talk before. You aren't supposed to be talking to Templars. What if they find out you're a mage?"

"It's no trouble," she said cheerfully. "Cullen's always been nice to the elves here, and I never use magic or talk about magic or even _think_ about magic when I'm talking to him. I just want to know more about them. Like how their armor gets so shiny. Creators know that Sebastian isn't going to tell me."

Varric muttered a curse as Merrill glanced between them and continued, "So what are you two going to do today? I heard Isabela is on her way back from that trip to Starkhaven. Do you plan to meet up with her?"

"Actually, we were planning a trip of our own up to Sundermount," Varric said.

Hawke frowned at him. "Were we now?"

The dwarf reached into his jacket and pulled out a scroll. He handed it to her, shaking it for emphasis. "Almost forgot to give this to you. A few of my contacts managed to get themselves in a spot of trouble and wanted me to help out. Figured you'd want in on the fun."

Hawke took the scroll and unraveled it, reading the messy dwarven handwriting with only some difficulty:

_Master Tethras,_

_It's come to my attention that work in the Zhaminar Lyrium Mines outside Kirkwall City has ground to a halt. I have sent inquiries to ascertain the nature of the delay, but have received no response. Seeing as this is a lucrative investment for the both of us, I assumed you would wish to look into the matter._

_Information is scarce. I hope you will go about investigating this matter with some manner of discretion._

_-Thadis Vhelum_

Hawke glanced up at Varric and narrowed her eyes. "And why exactly did they go to you for this?"

"My family owns stock in the mine, and since joining up with you, I've gained a reputation as a… _problem solver_, shall we say. So, naturally, they came to me for help."

"And, naturally, you're now coming to me for help."

"Naturally," he said with a grin. "Don't say you aren't interested."

Hawke pondered over this for a few moments, then nodded. "All right, let's check out what they want. Probably just an infestation of giant spiders or something. Interested in coming with us, Merrill?"

"M-me? You want _me_ to come with?" Merrill said. She suddenly fidgeted. "I'm, uh… I'm not sure I can make it today."

Hawke raised an eyebrow at the diminutive elf, who quickly glanced to the doorway that led to her bedroom. She then looked down into her lap and said, "U-um yes. I don't think I can go with you. I'm… busy. I'm so sorry, but I just-"

"It's fine, Merrill," Hawke said with a frown. Something obviously had the girl agitated, more than what was normal for her; she was blushing all the way to the tips of her pointed ears. "But is something wrong? You seem nervous."

Merrill laughed, then quickly stopped and folded her hands into fists. "I'm always nervous. I'm not… not _good_ at things like this. I don't want to be trouble, but—"

She glanced back to the doorway again. "To be honest, I got something the other day. A, um, project of mine I've been working on. It's kept me busy. _Very_ busy."

Varric glanced at Hawke with a confused gaze. "Can we take a look?"

"No! I-I mean, it's not ready yet. I'm still working on it. But that's why I can't show you. I have to keep working."

They sat in awkward silence for a few moments before Hawke cleared her throat and said, "Merrill, we'd like your company this afternoon. _I_'_d_ like your company. If you don't want to come, that's fine. But I'd really enjoy it if you went with us."

Merrill blinked quickly for a few moments, thinking so hard Hawke could almost imagine the tiny gears turning in the little mage's head. Then she reluctantly nodded and said, "I guess… I guess you're right. Some fresh air would do me good. And it would feel nice to have grass under my feet again rather than cold stone and gravel."

"Good. And… maybe we can pick you some more flowers while we're up there?"

A pleased smile finally returned to Merrill's tattooed face. "I'd like that, Hawke. Maybe I'll be able to keep them alive this time. I'll try very hard."

"I'm sure you will," Hawke reassured her as the elf rose to gather her belongings. In a few short strides she had vanished from sight. Moments later, the sound of an elven curse and clattering pots signaled that something had been knocked over in the next room.

"It's all right!" Merrill called. "It's all right! Just… talk amongst yourselves! _Creators help me_…"

As soon as the commotion died down, Varric raised an eyebrow at Hawke and folded his fingers over his stomach.

"So…" he said. "_Flowers_, huh?"

Hawke quickly looked away from the smug dwarf. "That's none of your business."

"I wasn't aware you were part of the floral delivery service. Or is there something you aren't telling your favorite dwarven pal?"

She blushed furiously and said, "I just felt bad that she had to live in a hovel like this. So I sent her something to brighten the place up. It was no trouble."

"What kind of flowers?"

Hawke stared at her lap and reluctantly grunted, "Andraste's Grace. I found a merchant from Ferelden selling them. Thought they would remind her of home."

Varric grinned. "Aww, how romantic."

"I swear to the Maker," she hissed at him, glancing fearfully at the doorway to the other room, "if you don't shut up about it, I'm going to shoot you with your own crossbow."

"Okay, okay," he said, raising his hands in surrender. "I won't prod any more about it. But I do have to say you two would make a cute couple."

"I know how to load it and crank it and everything," Hawke continued, pointedly staring at Bianca leaning against the wall. "I can probably shoot it better than you can."

"Firstly: no you can't. And secondly: I'll be quiet. Just tread lightly, okay Hawke?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Merrill's a sweet girl, but she seems kind of… fragile. I wouldn't want to see her get hurt."

Hawke was somewhat offended by the notion and scoffed, "You think I'm going to _hurt_ her?"

"Not intentionally of course. But you do tend to do things first and think about the consequences later. Then usually write those consequences off with a joke. I don't think Merrill would react well to that kind of treatment."

"I don't-"

"I wouldn't react to what kind of treatment?" Merrill suddenly interjected, stepping back into the room as she fastened her belt around her narrow hips. She had changed out of her loose green robe and into her more form-fitting leather armor, complete with Dalish ringmail and pauldrons made of thick black fur. The varied collection of leather pouches on her belt held all manner of medicinal herbs and tonics, and sometimes even poisons or grenades; Hawke knew Merrill liked being prepared for anything.

The elf paused at their silence, then said, "Oh no. I didn't walk in on anything dirty, did I? I hate walking in on dirty things. Makes me feel so stupid because I never know what people are talking about."

Her eyes widened. "N-not that I _want_ to be dirty! That's not what I meant. It sounded different in my head, I'm sorry."

Hawke fought back a deep urge to blush. "It's nothing. Varric and I were just talking… about his crossbow."

Varric raised an eyebrow at her, but reluctantly nodded. "Yeah… you need to know how to treat a crossbow right, or she might break. And that's always a sad, sad sight to see."

"Especially when the crossbow goes on to _misfire_ and shoot its owner in the _face_," Hawke said through clenched teeth.

Merrill watched their exchange unfold with her head tilted curiously to one side, eyes darting between them. "That _does_ sound frightening. I'll make sure to treat Bianca with respect, Varric."

The dwarf sighed in exasperation. "You do that, Daisy. Are you ready to go?"

"I am," she said. "Let's go!"

* * *

**Kirkwall (Present)**

"Varric," the Seeker pressed, "I'm not interested in this. Hawke's affections for the elf are well-known. That is not the information I want to hear."

"Seeker," Varric said patiently, "if you want to understand Hawke, you need to understand her _affections_ for Merrill. Hawke took that kind of thing very seriously, and whatever she did during her time in Kirkwall, she did out of concern for her family. Thankfully for us, her family included me, Blondie, and all the rest. And most importantly, it included Daisy."

He settled back in his chair with an irritated sniff. "Think of it as backstory, Seeker. If you want to better understand what happened and why, you'll want to remember that."

"I…" Pentaghast grudgingly nodded. "Very well. I am surprised, however, that the elf was convinced to tear herself away from her so-called _project_. Our reports suggest that she was corrupted very quickly."

"_The elf_," Varric snapped, "was more than just a silly little girl enthralled by that damned mirror, contrary to what your reports might claim. She was a _person_, Seeker, a friend who had more experience with demons than you ever will. And if you keep referring to her as _the elf_, I may just decide to stop being so helpful."

The Seeker narrowed her eyes, but nodded. "My apologies. So what exactly happened on Sundermount?"

He leaned forward and folded his fingers into a steeple. "What happened there was that Merrill saved our asses. And very nearly lost her own in the process."

"We need the details," Leliana pressed. "Everything you can remember. Leave nothing out."

He glanced over to the redhead, whose hooded face was thrown into shadow. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Don't forget your deal, Sister: how did you get involved in all of this?"

Sister Nightingale's lips quirked up a smile he couldn't quite see in the dim light.

"You still wish to know how I became involved in the events to come?"

"I think you owe me an explanation," he said. "After all, it was _your_ men who hauled me away from a perfectly good drink."

She nodded. "Very well. I will tell you."

Varric settled back in his chair. "Your audience waits with rapt attention."


	4. The Nightingale Arrives

**Passenger Transport, Waking Sea (Night)**

Leliana stood on the bow of the ship, arms hooked behind her back as she watched the glowing metropolis of distant Kirkwall on the horizon. She shivered in the cold sea breeze and drew her hood tighter around her reddening cheeks. Gulls called high overhead, circling both around her ship and the other transports all heading straight for the ominous City of Chains.

The reports coming out of the city were disturbing; more and more accounts of apostates and abominations with every passing day. The Templars had responded in a predictable manner: they had cracked down on those few mages who were actually obeying the Chantry's laws, confining them to their Circle and – if the rumors were true – making them Tranquil at the slightest provocation.

She sighed. Kirkwall was unstable enough, what with staggering levels of crime, a dangerous encampment of Qunari refugees, and an incompetent viscount lording over it all. It was a disaster waiting to happen. And in the middle of all of it, at least from the Chantry's perspective, was this mysterious figure named Hawke.

A name on everyone's lips since her good fortune in the Deep Roads not long ago, Marian Hawke's presence in the city had sent ripples that stretched far beyond Kirkwall. Yith fortune came fame, and with fame came unwanted attention. There had long been rumors that this Hawke woman was an apostate mage – and a powerful pyromancer at that – but until now the Chantry had little reason to suspect her of anything. She was a small fish in a much larger pond, and whatever slight infamy she possessed did not justify Chantry intervention.

But her rise in prominence had drawn the Chantry's eye and now Hawke was on the top of the list of potential apostates in need of closer scrutiny. She was neither the most dangerous nor the most wanted; simply the most accessible. Yet if she was truly an apostate or, Maker forbid, a blood mage, it was Leliana's sacred duty to turn her over to the Templars and perhaps lessen some of Kirkwall's trouble. Who knew? She may even save lives in the process.

In spite of the obvious danger, it seemed many of the city's residents either didn't know their precarious position or simply chose to ignore it. The ship hands bustling around her were chatting happily, speaking with no reservations about their planned antics in various taverns or brothels across the city once they reached shore. The other passengers had been allowed up on deck to stretch and get some fresh air while they reached their destination, provided they didn't impede the sailors in the process. The general attitude was that of relief and rowdiness, nothing like the cold caution that threaded its way through Leliana's veins.

The ship's captain, a portly, middle-aged man with thinning grey hair, was walking about the deck as well, making sure everything was operating smoothly. As Leliana continued to watch the distant, twinkling lights of Kirkwall, he cleared his throat and stepped up next to her. He glanced at her, then adopted a similar stance with his hands linked behind his back.

"It's a beautiful sight, isn't it?"

"Indeed," was all she said.

"We're slated for a clean run into the docks," the captain continued, bouncing on the balls of his feet. An anxious motion. He was nervous. "I hope the trip wasn't too uncomfortable."

"It was more than adequate," she said, still staring out over the dark ocean waves. "Thank you, captain. You have been very accommodating."

"Right… well, please convey my gratitude to the Grand Cleric Elthina when you see her. Thank her for her generous contribution to the—"

"You are afraid of me."

The captain trailed off. "I… I don't…"

"Do not feel embarrassed, captain," Leliana said, her gaze still not moving. "Many are afraid of me. Comfort yourself with the knowledge that you are not the cause of my presence here. I simply seek passage into Kirkwall, like all your other customers."

She finally turned to him and raised a single sovereign, procured from a secret pouch in her sleeve. To the captain, it must have seemed to appear out of thin air. She held it out to him and said, "If you would, refrain from telling anyone I booked passage here. The Chantry would be most appreciative."

"O-of course!" the captain said, eagerly snatching up the coin and bowing to her. "Thank you, Lady Nightingale. Thank you!"

She inclined her head to the man, then turned her gaze back to Kirkwall as he strode away to see to the ship. It wouldn't be long now before they reached port. Then her work would truly begin.

"That is _such_ a lovely accent."

Frowning, Leliana turned to find a dark-skinned woman leaning casually against the side of the bow. She was leaning against the side of the ship, resting an arm on the protective railing as she stared out at the dark ocean that surrounded them. A colorful bandanna was wrapped around the woman's forehead, keeping her thick brown hair out of her eyes, and she was dressed in a revealing white tunic with thigh-high leather boots.

Leliana sighed: the Rivaini. The ship had picked her up not long ago, after stopping to resupply in Starkhaven. Leliana had kept her interactions with all the other passengers to a minimum, so she hadn't spoken to this woman face-to-face before. Now it looked like she had no other choice.

The woman met her gaze with a mischievous smile. "We don't see many Orlesians in Kirkwall. What brings you so far north?"

"Business, unfortunately."

"Ah, the quiet, unsociable type," the Rivaini said, pushing off the railing and sauntering up to her with her hips swaying. She traced a finger down Leliana's shoulder with a sultry chuckle. "Come now, sweet thing. Indulge my curiosity."

Leliana didn't move. "It's a private affair. Not your concern."

"Aw, such a prude," the woman pouted. She leaned back with a grin. "Let me guess: Chantry?"

Leliana didn't speak and the Rivaini took this as confirmation. She laughed and said, "An Orlesian Chantry member who isn't spouting the Chant of Light at all opportunities and trying to convert everyone on board? I never thought I'd see the day."

She looked Leliana up and down. "But you aren't dressed like a priestess. A hood like that, with a tunic that doesn't quite cover up that expensive-looking combat armor. And was that a bow I spotted among your belongings earlier? _Very_ unconventional."

She cocked her head. "A lay sister then. On business from the Chantry. Not here to teach or convert. So my guess is you're here to kill. To hunt mages, perhaps? Take down the ones the Templars can't reach?"

She shrugged at Leliana's glare. "What? It's the only game that seems to be worth bagging in Kirkwall these days. Tell me I'm wrong."

"You know quite a bit about the Chantry," Leliana said, not letting the woman see how surprised she truly was.

"I know quite a bit about a lot of things, _Lady Nightingale_," the woman said, flashing her another dazzling smile. "One of the perks of my old profession."

"And what was that?"

"Oh come now," the Rivaini said. "I can't make it _that_ easy for you. Not after our little guessing game before. You'll have to work to know more about me."

She raised her chin in challenge and Leliana narrowed her eyes.

"Very well." The bard quickly looked the Rivaini up and down, studying every detail she could pick out in the dull light:

A tight, white jerkin, cut to look provocative but not too revealing that it couldn't hide trinkets or even leather armor inserts. Thigh-high boots made of rich black leather, sturdy and waterproof. A blue sash encircling her waist, with more than enough room to hide a dagger or two. A heavy necklace of gold and emeralds adorning her collar, dropping low enough that an onlooker's eyes were inevitably drawn to her ample cleavage. And finally, a collection of buckles, armor plating, and a thick leather gauntlet that covered her left arm from shoulder to wrist; guarding her sword arm unless Leliana was very much mistaken.

She turned her gaze back to Kirkwall, projecting an air of disinterest.

"Pirate."

The woman blinked, looking taken aback despite her earlier playful attitude. "I must admit, sweet thing… no one's ever guessed _that _quickly before."

A grin tugged at Leliana's lips despite herself. "So now that we both know each other's profession, was there something else you wanted?"

The woman shrugged and said, "Honestly, my plan originally ended with confusing you into submission and walking away triumphantly."

She took a step away, folding her arms and looking at Leliana with a little more respect. "So what exactly _are_ you doing here in Kirkwall?"

"Chantry business."

"Right. And I'm supposed to be intimidated by the bad-guard routine?"

"You're not supposed to be anything," Leliana replied. "I'm not here to entertain you."

The woman tapped the gold stud in her chin absently. "An attitude like that almost makes me wonder… have we met before?"

Leliana scoffed. "I doubt it. I have not spent much time in the Free Marches. I try to spend even less time with pirates."

The woman sauntered up to the railing and leaned against it again, staring out to open sea. "I'm not tied down exclusively to the Free Marches, you know. I used to operate out of Denerim. With my ship, _Siren's Call_. A damn good ship, with a damn good crew…"

A scowl drew down Leliana's face. Denerim. She could go years without ever seeing that ravaged city again. Without seeing the broken towers and the scorched city streets, the obvious signs of a war that was just barely won by the blood and sacrifice of heroes. One hero in particular…

She squeezed her eyes shut and thought, _No. I don't have time to think about that. Not now. Not here._

When she opened her eyes again she saw that the pirate woman was still staring out to sea, a wistful look on her face. Leliana decided to leave her be, glad to be free of her amber-eyed scrutiny. With a polite nod to the captain, she turned and headed back to her private quarters, graciously provided by nervous ship hands at the beginning of their journey.

She kept her quarters sparse, packing only the necessities. One could learn a lot about a person by their belongings, and Leliana wanted people to know as little about her as possible. She had her bow and quiver, her Orlesian-crafted daggers, a quill, inkwell, and a stack of parchment, and two cages containing thin, angry-looking carrier ravens. A third raven, her favorite, hopped across her desk and pecked at the wall.

She tried to focus on the task at hand. There were letters that needed to be written, contacts that needed to be informed of her imminent arrival…

But despite all her efforts, she couldn't keep memories of Denerim from slinking back into her mind. The smell of ash and smoke clogging the air, the screams and roars of battle drowning out all others, the blast of heat from the Archdemon's fire as it towered above her and-

She slammed the door shut, startling the ravens into a chorus of indignant cawing. She ignored them and bent over her desk, breathing hard. She ripped off her hood and closed her eyes again, willing herself to think of something – anything – else. _Think of the night before. Or the week before. Anything. Just not that particular day._

She sighed and eased herself onto the edge of her small, messy cot. Her eyes wandered across the cramped room, desperately trying to find something to distract her, until they fell upon a single item in particular.

It was a rosewood lute, beautifully crafted in Orlesian style with gold inlaid designs along the belly and neck. She felt a smile tug at her lips as her gaze passed over the engraving along the head: _May this gift wake your inner muse,_ it read_, and forever bring life to your song. – M._

Fanciful words. If she didn't know better, she'd think she had written them herself.

She stood and walked over to the instrument, tracing her fingertips over the strings, listening to the tiny, echoing scrape of sound her leather gloves caused. Once upon a time, she could have made those strings sing, made them cry, or made them scream. There was a time when she could have induced the same reaction on any of the crew, even that irritating Rivaini.

_M,_ she thought. _She never did like her first name. I don't think even I used it that often. She was always just…_

But those days were gone. Leliana kept the lute for sentimental reasons only and had not played it, or any instrument for that matter, in a very long time. Not since Denerim, at least. Not since that terrible day and all the ones that followed. Not since she had left Ferelden alone…

_No._ she thought again. _I will not be drawn back there again. I cannot._

She needed a better distraction. Anything to take her mind away from the dangerous path on which it was now treading. So she picked up the letter from the Divine, settling herself back on her cot and reading it for what felt like the hundredth time.

_Dearest Nightingale,_

_No doubt you have heard of the disturbing events that are occurring in the Free Marches city of Kirkwall. Apostate mages, out-of-control Templars, and blood magic are running rampant, all equally eroding the foundations of Chantry control in the city. The problem is systemic, and local efforts are doing little to bring peace to both the aggrieved parties and the typical city residents._

_I ask that you travel to Kirkwall as soon as possible to investigate allegations of both apostate and Templar activity. You will receive another letter shortly, containing your list of targets. These targets are not to know of your interest in them; I will be most relieved if few people even know you are in the city at all. Do not interact with these targets, but simply observe them. If the apostates are discovered to be blood mages or are harming others, turn their names and locations over to the Templars as discreetly as possible. If the Templars are abusing their power, report it anonymously to the Knight-Commander or the Revered Mother._

_I cannot stress enough that if the accused are doing no harm, they are to be left to their own devices. You and I both understand that there are apostates who are performing the Maker's work, just as there are Templars who strive to protect His peace. Upsetting this balance would only cause more pain for everyone involved._

_Take care, my little songbird. There will be eyes watching you._

_\- Dorothea_

Beneath the letter was a long list of names. Names and nothing more. She had quickly committed the list to memory upon receiving it, not trusting that a piece of paper could keep her mission confidential. There were over one hundred names; men, women, and even the occasional guttural and alien Qunari title. And easiest target was Hawke.

Leliana had to admit, she was surprised when she had stumbled across that name on her list. She had known the Hawke family long ago, when she was still a lay sister in the Lothering Chantry back in Ferelden. They were a charming, unassuming family who lived on a tiny farm just beyond the village. The younger daughter, Bethany, was a frequent visitor to the Chantry, and Leliana fondly remembered entertaining the young girl with tales of her exploits in Orlais as a bard. Her twin brother, Carver, was surly and unapproachable, rarely seen in the Chantry unless it was at the request of his sister. Leliana had never met the parents, Malcolm and Leandra, though she had been present at Malcolm's funeral.

The Hawke in question was the eldest daughter, Marian. Leliana remembered having a few interactions with her and had found her a charming individual. Marian had a sharp wit and a quick mind; both traits Leliana had grown to enjoy after her time involved with the Grand Game of Orlais. However, after the death of her father Leliana had seen less and less of Marian, as the burden of caring for the family had fallen to the eldest. On those rare occasions they had crossed paths, Marian had seemed different. There was something about her that had unsettled Leliana, a steel behind her eyes that she hadn't liked.

The fact that the Hawkes had survived the Blight in Ferelden and had made it all the way to Kirkwall was surprising enough. Leliana herself had barely left Lothering before the tiny village had been swarmed by darkspawn. She had returned after the crisis had passed and found it little more than a smoking, bloodstained ruin. No one had survived the onslaught.

Now the knowledge that the sarcastic, strong-willed woman from Leliana's past could actually be an apostate or – Maker forbid – a blood mage was appalling. Since finding the name, Leliana had begun to question her own judgement of the Hawke family. Had they been using her all along? Lying to her and taking advantage of her hospitality and grace?

She had forced herself to take a more neutral stance. Like the letter had said, not all apostates were evil. It could be that Marian had simply been born outside the Circle, with no opportunity to join the fold. She hoped that was the case. She didn't like the idea of being forced to turn the woman over to the Templars.

But regardless of her personal desires, if the Hawkes were harboring any blood mages it was her duty to bring them to the Chantry's justice. Her history with the family, however slight, did not matter.

There was a knock on her door, jolting her from her thoughts. She let out a short gasp and quickly pulled her hood back up. "What is it?"

It was the captain. She narrowed her eyes at his muffled voice on the other side of the door. "_I hate to intrude, Lady Nightingale, but we will be arriving at the docks very soon. I have received word that a Chantry representative will be there to greet you._"

"Thank you, captain," she said. "I shall present myself shortly."

Once she heard his footsteps retreating back toward the upper deck, she quickly gathered up her letters and tucked them into a pouch on her belt. She threw a pinch of feed to each of her ravens, then slung her quiver over her shoulder and hooked her bow to the special storage clamps there. She then looked over her list of names one last time, lingering over Hawke's name in particular, which she had underlined several times during her perusals.

"Well, Marian," she said. "You have quite a bit of explaining to do."

Then she crumpled up the paper and threw it out the window, letting it sink down into the waters of the Waking Sea.


	5. Adding Anders

**Darktown, Kirkwall (Day)**

"What is it with you and cats?"

Anders looked up. "What?"

Merrill shifted from one foot to another, obviously uncomfortable in her bare feet. The ground of Darktown was all gravel and pulverized stone and even a Dalish elf's calloused soles probably found it irritating. "Your cats. You seem to have a lot of them. Why?"

Anders shrugged. "I don't think two is a lot of cats. Besides, they keep me company. Ser Prowls-a-lot and Ser Meows-a-lot are good assistants. They keep the patients happy."

Merrill blinked her large eyes. "You come up with the strangest names for your pets."

He sighed. He'd heard that time and again, ever since poor Pounce-a-lot. "Well what would you name them then?"

Merrill sat down on one of the vacant cots, happily watching the as the two felines in question quickly padded up to her. Meows-a-lot, a striped tabby, began winding around her legs with a purr, while Prowls-a-lot, a sullen black-furred predator, settled himself on her lap.

"Roger," she said suddenly, petting Prowls-a-lot's head.

"What?"

"This one," she said, scratching the cat between the ears. "I'd name him Roger. And the other one would be Bundles."

"Why Roger?"

She blinked again, a habit of hers whenever she didn't understand what other people were saying. "It's a good name. A nice name that doesn't make people scrunch their noses up when they hear it."

Anders sighed, checking on an elf who'd come down with scurvy after a voyage across the Waking Sea. His condition was improving, and he was finally sleeping well. It was good to see that all the effort he'd put into the man's recovery wasn't going to waste. He lit a weak healing spell in each hand and passed them over his still body, just to give him an extra boost to last him through the afternoon. "Roger is a fine name," he said as he worked, "but it's not right for Prowls-a-lot. He's a sneaky cat. Likes to steal rats from the marketplace. _Roger_ is just too plain."

"Oh, I don't know," Merrill said, cocking her head and watching the lanky cat purr contentedly. "I think he looks like a Roger. Do you like the name, little Roger?"

Prowls-a-lot closed his yellow eyes and purred louder. Merrill giggled happily at the sight and said, "See? I think he likes it. Bundles too."

"Right… Merrill, why exactly are you here? I thought Varric told you not to go wandering around Darktown anymore. And this place isn't exactly easy to find."

The skinny elf blushed. "Truth be told I didn't mean to come here. I'm not even completely sure where _here_ is. I was walking around the markets with Varric and Hawke, and I took a wrong turn… and ended up wandering a bit…"

"And you ended up in Darktown?" Anders scoffed. "Just how long were you wandering?"

"Oh, I don't know. A few hours at the most. And it's not that bad. At least not as bad as the time I wound up in Viscount Dumar's clothes closet."

"I've been meaning to ask you about that," Anders said. "How exactly did you do that? They manage to catch people all the time who are actually _trying_ to get into the Viscount's keep. You just traipsed in and wound up in his bedroom?"

"I wasn't watching where I was going," Merrill insisted, a colorful blush warming her tattooed cheeks. "I was looking up at the rafters, wondering if they ever get birds up there and if the birds ever… you know… on the people who are going about their business. And I wondered whose job it was to clean it up if they did? Aveline doesn't talk about it, and I don't think she'd-"

"Merrill," Anders interrupted, "why exactly are you sticking around?"

"Hawke wanted to see you," the diminutive elf said matter-of-factly, swinging her legs back and forth. "I figured it was the smarter thing to wait for her here until she shows up."

"And you don't think she and Varric will be looking for you instead of coming to see me?"

"We've gotten used to her disappearing on us," came a familiar amused voice from the doorway. Anders turned to find none other than Hawke herself entering his clinic, Varric just behind. The stocky dwarf winked at Merrill as they passed and she quickly stood and re-joined her group, blushing silently.

"Thanks for keeping an eye on our sightseer, Blondie," Varric said. "We lost her somewhere in the Lowtown markets."

"I'm sorry," Merrill mumbled. "The markets are just so exciting! So much to see, so much to explore…"

"And what happened to that ball of twine I gave you?" Varric inquired. "It would have helped lead you back."

Merrill squirmed. "I… lost it?"

Varric sighed in good-natured exasperation. "Sometimes I wonder if _I _shouldn't keep the twine and attach the other end to your ankle, Daisy. It would be easier to keep track of you that way."

"_That_ would be very easy to trip over."

Hawke, meanwhile, was looking around the clinic. Her eyes lingered on the scurvy-ridden elf, then she met Anders' gaze. "Slow day?"

"Yes, Maker be praised," Anders said, retrieving his staff from where it was leaning against the wall. "The clinic was swamped with the sick and injured all last week. Some kind of cave-in further into Darktown. So much attention is dangerous and just begs for Templar interference."

"Did anyone give you trouble?"

"Just the usual investigators for the Templars," Anders replied wearily. "We dealt with them, though; peacefully, against my urging. A few misdirection hexes sent them off down a side-alley, well away from here. Since then, all's been quiet."

"Good. I'm glad things are calming down for you," Hawke said. She gave him a knowing smirk. "So what would you say to making things a little crazy again?"

He sighed in good-natured exasperation. "Another adventure? And so soon? You just got back from the Deep Roads a few weeks ago."

"You know me," Hawke flashed him a crooked grin. "I'm not exactly one to rest on my laurels. A rich girl has to go out and find more trouble. It is the family profession, you know."

Anders glanced at his patients and said, "Everyone is stable for now. My assistants can look after everyone for a time. What did you have in mind?"

"Varric received a letter about an abandoned mine up near Sundermount," Hawke quickly explained. "We're going to go see why everyone suddenly stopped working. And I figured we'd need a dashing, feather-fluffed healer tagging along in case any of the workers were hurt."

Anders laughed. "How can I refuse when you put it like that?"

"So you'll go?" Merrill asked. She clapped her hands in delight. "Wonderful! We can pack a picnic!"

"Daisy," Varric said, "this is more business than a social outing. People could be hurt up there."

"All the more reason to bring food. People who are hurt are usually hungry too."

"This isn't going to be another Bone Pit debacle, is it Hawke?" Anders asked. "Because I think I've filled my quota of dragon-slaying for the year."

"No promises," Hawke replied. "But I'll make sure no dragons toast your fancy feather pauldrons, Anders. Don't worry."

Anders took one last look at his clinic and said, "All right. When were you planning on heading out?"

"Now," Hawke said. "Provided Merrill doesn't wander off on us again."

"I-I didn't mean to!" the elf insisted. "I promise! I just saw a really pretty bird sitting on the railing and…"

She trailed off and mumbled, "… I decided to follow it for a bit."

"Just make sure you don't spot anything pretty down in the mine," Varric said with a short chuckle. "I'm not sure you'll end up wandering into Anders' clinic from there."

"There isn't much that's pretty down in a mine," Merrill said. "Some shiny stuff sometimes, but it's usually grown into the walls and doesn't have a habit of flying off when you're staring at it."

Anders disregarded the two and said, "Let me get some things together and I'll be right with you."

As he began gathering some essentials, medical supplies and poultices mostly, Hawke stepped up next to him, lowering her voice. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine," Anders said. "Busy. That's all."

"You took Karl's death hard. I just wanted to know if you were okay."

"We made the right decision," Anders said. "A life cut off from your emotions is no life at all. If we couldn't cure him, we had to kill him. It was the only option we had."

He glanced at Hawke, then quickly away again. "He's at peace now. That's more than the Templars ever gave him."

"I… guess that's a good outlook to have," Hawke admitted. "I'm just sorry we couldn't have gotten there sooner. Before they made him Tranquil. Maybe we could have rescued him."

Anders let out a dry chuckle. "Karl would never have deserted the circle. He thought he could do more good on the inside, bettering the lives of mages from a position where he could be a figurehead. A life like mine, running around in the dark and hiding from Templar scrutiny? He wouldn't be able to stand it."

He turned back to Hawke. "We did the right thing. My only wish is that I could punish the Templars responsible."

He finished packing up. "In lieu of that, I'll settle for killing whatever poor sods who happen to try and take you on."

"That's good to hear. If this job turns out to be anything like I expect, I think we'll need medical assistance."

Anders laughed again. "Since when does _anything_ you do turn out like you expect?"


	6. Ready or Not, Here She Comes

**The Chantry (Day)**

Leliana pulled her hood back over her shoulders, revealing a brilliant mane of flame-red hair as she stepped through the tall reinforced doors of the Kirkwall chantry. Instantly the familiar clinging scent of incense wafted over her. The swelling murmur of singing could be heard from behind more than a few closed doors, and red-robed priests and priestesses were kneeling at alters all around, heads bowed in prayer.

A smile tugged at her lips; she had traveled all across Thedas, but Chantries were always the same. That sense of warm familiarity she felt every time she entered one was just one of the reasons she had never truly left the fold. A few of the priests nodded respectfully to her as she passed, mistaking her wistful smile for a greeting.

The Kirkwall chantry itself, however, was very different from the rustic Ferelden Chantries she had visited: high vaulted ceilings, hundred-year-old tapestries, massive bookcases full of texts written by the brightest minds the Chantry could offer, all dominated by a colossal golden statue of the Maker Himself. There were priests and priestesses scattered around the entire area, though there were fewer of both than she expected. It wasn't surprising, as the Chantry often sent its children out to spread the word of the Maker or help the less fortunate.

"Excuse me," she said as she approached a knot of lay sisters talking among themselves. "Do you know where I may find Grand Cleric Elthina?"

They pointed her to the feet of the Maker statue, a floor above her. As she passed by, she noticed some of the priests casting her fearful glances or whispering to each other in hushed voices. Leliana didn't blame them; her position as Left Hand of the Divine did not carry an overly positive connotation, and historically the Left Hands were among the more infamous of the Chantry's agents. While it was somewhat hurtful to be treated in such a way by those she had devoted her life to, her directive was far too important to focus on such trivial matters.

Grand Cleric Elthina, leader of the Kirkwall Chantry, was standing just below the Maker statue, deep in conversation with a handsome young man in meticulously-polished white armor. Her pale gray hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail and her lined face was tight and drawn with irritation. The young man looked just as irritated, his deep blue eyes flashing.

"For the last time, Sebastian," the Grand Cleric was saying, "it is not the position of the Chantry to serve as law-enforcers! That is why we rely on the Chanter's Board."

"You refused to let me place my request on the board!" the white-armored man insisted. "If you will not send Templars to bring these men to justice and will not let me reach out to a third party, I fail to see what other alternative I have!"

"Killing another," Elthina pressed, "whether the other has wronged you or not, is still _murder_."

"It is _justice_!"

"_Your_ justice. Not the Maker's!"

"If the Maker does not defend his faithful," Sebastian snapped, "then it falls upon us to defend them instead."

"Now is not the time for this discussion." Elthina sighed and rubbed her forehead. She finally looked over to Leliana and clasped her hands in front of her. She looked relieved to have an excuse to leave the argument. "Ah. Sister Nightingale. It is good to finally meet you."

Leliana bowed her head. "The pleasure is all mine, Grand Cleric."

"You can ignore me all you want, Grand Cleric," the young man insisted. "It won't change my decision."

"Sister, perhaps you can talk some sense into our young Brother Sebastian," Elthina said, voice tight. "He seems quite resistant to my advice."

"My family," Sebastian hissed, "was _murdered_. Their killers still walk the streets, unpunished! And the Grand Cleric refuses either to do anything or allow _me_ to administer justice!"

Leliana frowned. "These people, these murderers. Who are they?"

"Mercenaries. Cutthroats that stalk the streets and prey upon the innocent. They fled here from Starkhaven after murdering my family. They _cannot_ be allowed to walk free!"

"If these cutthroats are as dangerous as you say," Leliana pointed out, "they will quickly fall into the attention of the city guard. They will be captured and imprisoned. If justice is what you seek, you need not kill them."

"Blood demands blood," Sebastian hissed. "We cannot give leniency and show similar murderers their actions will be met with mercy!"

"To follow the Maker is to live a merciful life," Leliana said. "We must show compassion to others, even if they show none to us."

The words came easily, though they were hollow to her own ears. She knew what Sebastian was going through, knew the anger and bloodlust that was consuming him. Leliana was more than well-versed in losing loved ones, and sympathized with his pain. But she needed the assistance of the Kirkwall Chantry and the Grand Cleric. She needed to prove to Elthina that she was trustworthy and if that meant speaking empty words she no longer believed, so be it.

"You are not the only one who has lost loved ones," she continued. "And while vengeance is tantalizing, it is far from fulfilling. You must respect the Grand Cleric's judgement."

"What I must do," Sebastian argued, "is ensure my family's deaths do not go unpunished. If you cannot do that, Grand Cleric, then perhaps I should turn to Hawke for assistance!"

Leliana looked up sharply, quickly disguising the motion as if she was brushing away an irritating insect. "Hawke? Should I know this name?"

Sebastian glared at her. "An ally of mine. One who is not afraid to do what must be done. My family has given much to the Chantry. It is sad that devotion repaid in this manner."

With that, he stormed off down the stairs and headed for the lay brother's quarters. Grand Cleric Elthina watched him go, then sighed and shook her head. "He is a good man, but prone to bursts of anger and recklessness. It is just a phase, but a most difficult one to put up with."

She turned to Leliana. "I am sorry to drag you into my conflicts, Sister Nightingale. I hoped your voice could sway him better than mine."

"It is no trouble. But I'm afraid I must focus on my own mission."

"Of course. The Divine sent word you would be arriving and informed me of your mission. I'm afraid the Chantry can provide you with no official support while we are here. However, a few of our lay brothers and sisters are scattered throughout the city and will provide you with information as needed."

"Thank you," Leliana said. "I can handle myself for now, I assure you. I merely wished to make my presence known and inform you that I would be operating within the city for the foreseeable future. However, if I need anything more I may need to seek you out."

"Please do," Elthina said. "It is good to have you here, Sister. Your presence will undoubtedly be a stabilizing one on this city, whether it is known or not."

Leliana followed as Elthina began walking down the steps toward the main atrium. "What is the situation here in Kirkwall? I have heard rumors, nothing more."

"There are tensions growing between the Circle Mages and the Templar Order. The mages are convinced they are being repressed by tyrannical Templars who are abusing their positions of power. The Templars, by comparison, believe that any abuses of power are justified by the presence of blood mages within the Circle."

She shook her head. "It is becoming increasingly difficult to keep the two sides separated. There is no reasoning with either, and their refusal to submit to Chantry guidance seems to be rubbing off on others; like you saw with Brother Sebastian just now. Hopefully, your investigation will remove the causes of extremism within both factions and bring peace to Kirkwall once again."

"That is the hope," Leliana said. "The Divine is concerned that the hostilities in Kirkwall will be under close scrutiny from others and exploited as a weakness in the Chantry. It needs to be calmed before things get worse."

"I hope, for our sakes, that she is wrong." Elthina drew to a stop, folding her hands together. "But now, I have important matters that demand my attention. I will send one of the Sisters to attend to you."

"Thank you, Grand Cleric, but that will not be necessary. I can show myself out."

"As you wish. Maker go with you, child."

Leliana bowed as the Grand Cleric turned and walked toward the east wing of the Chantry, to the altars and prayer circles housed there. Leliana waited until it was respectful to leave, then turned and hurried in the direction Sebastian had disappeared. She slipped through the doors to the dormitories, keeping her eyes sharply attuned for his polished white armor.

She found him kneeling at the feet of a statue of the prophetess Andraste. Lit candles surrounded him and his head was bowed as he murmured a quiet prayer for his fallen family. She hung back, waiting for him to finish. Her mission was important, but she would not interrupt such a ritual.

After he'd finished, he said, "What more do you wish of me, Sister?"

She leaned against the wall and folded her arms. "I am… sorry about your family. I know the pain you must be feeling right now. I offer my condolences."

"Thank you," he said, rising to his feet. "But I do not want your sympathy. I desire only justice."

"You mentioned an ally in the city? Hawke?"

He nodded. "An admirable woman, far more capable of doing what is right than the Grand Cleric seems to be. She will help, even if the Chantry will not. She has already tracked down several bands of the mercenary company that killed my family. Only a few more remain. I plan to send her a message at the earliest opportunity."

"Perhaps there is a way I can help. I can take the message to her personally. That way, you know the message arrived safely and without Chantry scrutiny."

Sebastian narrowed his blue eyes. "You argued for mercy earlier. Why have you changed your mind?"

"I spoke only what the Grand Cleric wished to hear," Leliana said. "I needed her support for my own duties within the city."

"The Maker frowns upon flatterers," Sebastian said, "and liars. Why help me?"

"Because…" she bit her lip, then decided to take a gamble and tell him the truth. "Because not long ago I was in your same position. I lost someone I cared for deeply and, like you, I was denied my vengeance. I can understand your concerns. I wish to help."

She held his gaze. "Your family deserves justice, Sebastian. Andraste may advocate peace and mercy, but she also knew when to punish those who had wronged her. Mercy must be tempered with retribution or it stagnates and becomes apathy. That is most certainly not in the Maker's plan."

He continued to stare at her, obviously debating whether to trust her. Eventually he nodded, his jaw tightening in determination. "Very well. I will not turn away assistance when it is freely offered."

He turned to a desk nearby, taking a quill and scratching down a quick message. "You will find Hawke on the outskirts of Kirkwall, probably along the eastern trails of the Wounded Coast. I heard she and her companions were planning a trip to Sundermount. If you hurry, you may find them before they reach their destination."

He turned and handed her the message. "You have my thanks, Sister Nightingale."

She took the letter and bowed her head. "May you walk in the Maker's peace, Sebastian."

"And you."

Then she turned and moved back to the main room, heading straight for the main doors. She would need to hurry if she wanted to reach Hawke in time. Sundermount was a fair distance away, and she would be hard-pressed to catch the woman's group before they left the city limits. As she stepped back out onto the street, she pulled her hood back over her head and set off into Hightown.

So she now had a location. She had to admit, she had thought Hawke would be more difficult to track down. Apostates were usually very difficult to find, and were often masters of burying themselves in the underbelly of society, particularly in cities as large as Kirkwall. Sebastian had a good heart, even if he was somewhat conflicted, but he was obviously not the best person to entrust with valuable information. If this were Orlais, being so forthcoming with information could lead to people's deaths.

Considering her orders if Hawke turned out to be a blood mage, it may yet just come to that.

Once she was out of sight of the Chantry, she glanced down at the letter in her hand. She felt a twinge of pity for the young Chantry Brother. She had meant what she said about his family deserving justice. But he would need to seek that justice on his own, even if it went against the wishes of the Grand Cleric. Her own mission was far too important and she could not waste time. Not now.

She crumpled up the letter and let it fall to the street before making for the nearest city exit.


	7. I Spy

**The Path to Sundermount (Evening)**

Merrill smiled happily as she looked around. "Is it my turn? I think it's my turn."

They were trudging up the well-worn road to Sundermount, the sun setting behind them. Normally, the path was frequented by miners and workers who had business on the mountain (or who were heading up to trade with the Dalish clans) but today the road seemed largely deserted. In the hours since setting out from Kirkwall they had passed two other travelers and a single mangy-looking cat, all heading in the opposite direction. Sundermount now loomed ahead of them, towering up into the sky like a giant monolith of heavily forested stone.

They had entered into a forested part of the path, with gnarled and twisted trees crowding the road on either side. Night was fast approaching, and Hawke was keeping an eye on the wood, making sure her tiny group wasn't ambushed by rogue mabari hounds or Tal Vashoth rebels. They were still moving along the Wounded Coast, after all, and many an inattentive traveler had disappeared along this road.

It wouldn't be long before they would be forced to camp for the night. Hawke's feet were killing her, forcing her to lean on her staff as a walking stick. Varric had it even worse than she did, as his shorter legs couldn't carry him as far. He was grumbling about cracking boot soles and cramps in his legs, but was too stubborn to openly ask to stop. Anders had offered to help him with a soothing spell, but the dwarf had refused, claiming he'd never hear the end of it if he accepted.

Merrill, though, seemed more than happy to keep moving. She had barely stopped talking since they had reached the path, pointing out interesting sights along the road or retelling stories about her time in the wilds with her clan. Now, she and Hawke were engaged in what Merrill claimed was a traditional Dalish traveling game, played during long and boring trips across the countryside.

"All right." Merrill said, chewing her lip. "I spy with my elven eyes… something starting with… _B_!"

"Bird," Varric sighed ahead of them.

"Aw, it was Hawke's turn to guess," Merrill pouted. "How did you know?"

"You used _bird_ last time."

"Did I? I don't think I did. It was _tree_, wasn't it?"

"It was _bird_, Daisy. I remember these things."

"Right. Okay. Well, it's Hawke's turn."

"I don't see the point," Anders murmured, trudging along with a scowl. "All that you two have managed to come up with so far is _rock_, _grass_, _tree_, _bird, _and _corpse. _And you two been playing for almost an hour. Can we just get some peace and quiet?"

"Don't forget," Hawke pointed out, "you agreed to come along. You can't complain now."

"I didn't think we'd be _hiking_ to Sundermount. You'd think with your newfound wealth, you would have bought a horse by now."

Hawke scoffed. "And where would I put this horse? In the estate? Or in your clinic?"

"I have an idea where you could put it…"

"Oh, please don't fight," Merrill pleaded. "This is supposed to be _fun_, remember?"

"Technically," Varric reminded her, "we're supposed to be rescuing missing miners."

Merrill's gaze fell to her feet and she mumbled, "That can be fun…"

"Lay off her, you two," Hawke interrupted. When the two fell into a grudging silence, she sighed and said, "Look, we're all tired. We've been walking all day. Why don't we find a place to camp for the night? Get back at it first thing in the morning?"

"Do you think the miners will last that long?"

"I doubt they're being held captive by someone," Hawke said. "Either they're there or they're not. They can wait overnight. Besides, we can't help them if we're all at each other's throats."

Varric glanced at Anders, then shrugged. "The woman has a point. I agree with her."

"I can find us a place to camp," Merrill said. "I used to be good at it!"

"_Used _to?"

"Well… I _was_ good at it. Until I accidentally camped an aravel on a hive of inferno ants. They didn't let me pick campsites after that."

"Right," Anders said. "Why don't you let me find a place to camp? You guys could maybe find something to eat?"

Hawke had a little experience hunting back in Ferelden. Times had been hard in the years before the Blight, and many times Marian or her brother Carver had been responsible for finding food for the rest of the family. Officially, the lands belonged to the local Banns or Arls, but it wasn't technically poaching if the kill fed the lord's subjects. And, of course, if no one caught them.

"It shouldn't be too difficult to find game out here," Varric said, grabbing Bianca from over his shoulder. "It's all grassland and trees: good rabbit country. Might even bag a deer along the way."

"I was never a full-fledged hunter," Merrill said. "But I got some training before becoming the Keeper's First. Lyna… um, a friend of mine used to say I was a natural."

"Good," Hawke said. "I'll go with you. We'll find something. Anders, you'll find camp?"

He nodded. "I'll get a campfire going. You'll be able to see the smoke."

"All right. See you soon."

They parted ways there, each forging their own way into the tree line. The ground underfoot quickly blended from the hard gravel of the road into the rough dirt and sharp-edged razorgrass of the forest floor. Hawke soon found herself wondering how Merrill could stand the uncomfortable foliage in little more than her bare feet. But the little elf seemed more than happy, skipping a few steps with a joyful smile on her face. She spread her arms and spun in a quick circle with a giggle.

"It's so nice to be out in the open again," she said, breathing in a deep breath of cool forest air. "Out in the trees, away from the stink of the city. Lowtown just doesn't smell right. Too much wet dog and trash smell everywhere."

She suddenly did a double-take. "Oh! But not your uncle's house, Hawke! It always smelled… um, a little better… for Lowtown, I mean."

Hawke grinned. "Don't worry about it, Merrill. Gamlen's house stinks even worse than the rest of Lowtown most days."

"Oh good," Merrill said with a relieved sigh. "I'm not a very good liar."

"No," Hawke agreed with a grin. "No you're not."

They wandered through the trees for some time in silence, eyes peeled for signs of movement. Hawke held her staff at the ready, prepared to unleash a bolt of deadly magic at a moment's notice. And as they continued, Hawke began to believe Merrill's choice of footwear was smarter than it looked. The little elf was wearing little more than thin cloth sandals that left the soles and toes of her feet bare. The footwraps allowed her to move through the brittle grass almost silently. Hawke, in her thick, padded Ferelden boots, crunched through the underbrush like a particularly clumsy bronto.

For a time, it seemed like the forests were just as deserted as the road. They ventured deeper and deeper into the trees, watching the sun sink lower on the horizon, and still found no signs of local wildlife. After fifteen minutes they spotted the smoke from Anders' fire wafting into the air some distance away.

"Come on," Hawke muttered. "We have to find _something_. We can't let Varric get the satisfaction of getting the only game for dinner. He'll tell the story of how he out-hunted a Dalish and a Kirkwall noble for years to come."

Merrill looked just as determined, her thin brows knitted together in concentration as her large eyes raked the brush for signs of movement. "I agree. I want to be a _hero_ of one of his stories for once, not just the silly little Dalish girl who can't even find her own teapot."

Hawke paused. "Merrill…"

"Oh, you don't have to lie to me," Merrill said, not taking her eyes off her hunt. "I can tell that's what everyone thinks about me. I'm a naïve little girl who doesn't know anything about Kirkwall or the wilds. You aren't wrong."

"Hold up a second," Hawke said, putting a hand on Merrill's bony shoulder. "You're my friend. I don't believe you're a silly little girl, Merrill. Why would you even think that?"

The little elf sighed. "Hawke, I couldn't even keep a stupid handful of _flowers_ alive. How could I ever compare to a hero like you?"

Hawke's heart fell. "The flowers… they were stupid?"

Merrill's eyes widened. "What? No! No, that's not what I meant!"

Hawke was already blushing and turning away, tucking a strand of midnight-black hair behind her ear and keeping her eyes on her boots. "I knew I shouldn't have sent them to you. It was silly of me to think…"

Merrill reached out and grabbed Hawke's wrist. "Hawke… I appreciated the flowers. I really did. And I may not have known how to keep them alive, but I recognized them. Andraste's Grace. From Ferelden."

A blush colored Merrill's tattooed cheeks and she quickly let go of Hawke's wrist as the mage turned back to her. "It was very sweet of you. I just felt so bad that they died. I..."

"Merrill…" Hawke took a step closer, then hesitantly reached out and clasped one of Merrill's small hands with her own. "No one thinks you're naïve. In fact, I'm impressed by your knowledge of your people and the history of this area. That knowledge has saved my life and the lives of our friends more than once. For Andraste's sake, even that witch, Asha'bellanar, was impressed by you! How many people can claim that?"

She glanced down at her boots and felt her heart pound in her chest. Was now the time to tell her how she really felt? Did Hawke herself even _know_ how she really felt? Her emotions regarding the Dalish mage were confusing to say the least. She found Merrill's mannerisms adorable, her awkwardness more than charming, and her tentative laugh almost magnetically attractive. But she was also a blood mage who commanded very dangerous magic. Not to mention the fact that she had seemed oblivious to all of Hawke's previous advances. How would she react? Would she blush and let out one of those infectious giggles, or would she recoil in disgust and reject her?

_Merrill's a sweet girl_, Varric had said, _but she seems kind of fragile. I wouldn't want to see her get hurt._

The last thing Hawke wanted was to hurt her. But her feelings for the young woman were too strong to ignore, even if Hawke herself didn't fully understand them. Did she say something now? Or did she wait until she understood her own motivations?

Merrill decided for her. Still blushing furiously, the thin elf stepped back and drew her hand out of Hawke's grip. She cleared her throat awkwardly and said, "We… we should get back to hunting. Varric has probably already found plenty of rabbits already."

She started to turn away and Hawke began to panic inside. She had to do _something_, something that would make this whole exchange worth it. She looked around, desperately searching for a way to ease the tension that had suddenly rose between them. Her eyes fell on a bright yellow flower bloom poking up out of the forest floor. She pounced on it, quickly picking it and stepping after Merrill.

"Wait," she said.

Merrill hesitated, then turned back to her. Hawke moved before she could stop herself, reaching out and tucking the bright yellow flower behind Merrill's pointed ear. She then drew back, blushing, and said, "For your new flower collection. We'll find more as we keep hunting."

Merrill stared at her and for a moment, Hawke thought the Dalish would scold her. But then her usual happy grin returned and she let out a small laugh. "Thank you, Hawke. Maybe I can carry them all back in my hair. It would look so pretty!"

"Yes," Hawke murmured, letting out a sigh of relief. "Yes it would."

Then with a sudden rustling, a thick patch of bushes behind of them shook and a furry brown shape darted out through the grass. Hawke reacted before she could stop herself, drawing her fist back and firing off a Fireball spell. The resulting explosion engulfed the bushes and sent sparks flying everywhere.

Merrill hopped back, covering her face and crying out, "_Dirthara-ma_!"

Hawke quickly shoved her hand behind her back, pulling a face as the bushes crackled. "Sorry! Sorry! I was distracted and reacted too fast."

Merrill brushed a cluster of embers off her shoulders and let out a short giggle. "I think you should apologize to the poor bushes. What did they ever do to you?"

She cautiously stepped forward, pointedly avoiding the charred areas of the forest floor. Pausing near a cluster of thick grass, she reached down and picked up a limp, smoking object from the brush. She held it up to Hawke with a smirk. "You got it, at least. It may be a little crunchy, but you got it."

Hawke blushed. "Sorry. Didn't mean to."

"Why don't you let me get the rest of the rabbits," Merrill said with a grin. "Or else you might set the whole forest on fire."

* * *

**Later that night…**

Leliana crouched behind a sturdy outcropping of boulders, listening intently to the quiet chatter of conversation below her. She had her back to the boulder and was twirling one of her daggers between her fingers while she waited for dawn.

It hadn't taken long for her to catch on to Hawke's party. They were in no real rush and had mostly stuck to the main road. That had been enough for Leliana to covertly tail them for almost half the day, until they had decided to settle down in a small ravine for the night.

She couldn't deny the smell of roast rabbit that wafted up from the camp was starting to make her hungry, but she forced the feeling away as quickly as it rose. She could eat later, after the suspected blood mages were dealt with. Her stomach rumbled quietly, as if in disagreement, but she simply ignored it and continued focusing on the conversation just beyond the boulders.

"So…" one of the men murmured. "Worst food you've ever eaten. What was it?"

"That's easy," Marian Hawke's alluring Ferelden accent broke in. "There was a tavern back in Lothering, not far from where I lived as a girl. They served this mushy vegetable stew that – according to rumor – was made up of the scraps from all the leftover meals. Had to eat it on occasion after working the fields. There was nothing else available."

"Eew," came the higher, lilting voice of the elf, Merrill.

"I know. Downright disgusting. But it was the best we had at the time."

"No," the elf said quickly. "I meant to say, why would anyone leave leftovers? Do humans like their food to go stale? Or rotten?"

"Not exactly, Daisy," came the rough, raspy voice of the dwarf. "You see, we townsfolk always seem to believe we'll have another meal. We're not as thrifty as you elves."

"Oh. Right. Because in the clans, we weren't allowed to waste food. Even if it was bug soup."

"Bug soup?" said the other man in their group, Anders. "Why in the name of Andraste would you put bugs in a soup?"

"Oh, they aren't that bad," the elf reassured him. "Not when you boil them down and serve them with spices! They're actually pretty decent. Taste like chicken."

"Everything does, Daisy."

Leliana sighed quietly and shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips despite her best efforts to stifle it. Such conversations brought her back to her days traveling with the Grey Warden Mahariel, the Hero of Ferelden. The setting was almost identical; out on the road, far from civilization, with little besides a campfire and friendly company to wear away the night.

How simple things were back then, when all she needed to worry about were such trivial matters: Darkspawn, Morrigan's temper, whether Lyna would smile at her stories…

An image shot through her mind against her will. A flash of blood and flames. The taste of ash in her mouth as the sky boiled overhead. The clouds seemed to burn a deep orange-red, mirroring the blood that was running in rivulets through the streets. There was a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach as she saw Alistair approaching her. And held in his arms, limp and unmoving-

She squeezed her eyes shut. _No. No, I will not allow myself to go back to those memories. Not now._

She forced herself to pay closer attention to the conversation on the other side of the boulders, to hang on to every scrap of information, every minute detail she could gather. She had already built up a profile of the group in case she needed to interact with or attack them.

The human, Anders, was obviously a mage; the feathered pauldrons gave him away instantly. He didn't seem too combative when dealing with the others, though it was obvious he was irritated by the trek. If she had to guess, she'd say he was a spirit healer not well-versed in offensive magic. If it came to a fight, he could be crippled or killed easily.

The dwarf, Varric, would be tricky. She had observed him while he'd been hunting for their dinner, had watched him from her perch in the branches of a tall tree while he prowled the underbrush with keen eyes and what looked like a pump-action crossbow tucked tight to his chest. She'd never seen such a weapon, but knew by watching him hunt that he was a swift and deadly shot.

Leliana was truly surprised by the rail-thin Dalish that accompanied them. Though she was of a nervous and anxious demeanor, Leliana got the idea she was far more powerful than she outwardly appeared. She, like Hawke and Anders, was a mage. But such a seemingly innocent and nervous girl would not be able to survive on her own without either powerful abilities of her own or much help from her friends.

Hawke herself was, unsurprisingly, the wild card in all this. She was an apostate mage; after seeing her accidentally hurl a head-sized ball of fire while hunting, there could be no doubt of her powers. However, Leliana's mandate was to eliminate _dangerous _apostates who were causing harm to others. While Hawke definitely qualified as dangerous, she seemed perfectly content to not only leave others alone, but help her fellows if asked. In fact, it seemed that was the purpose of their little hike: to search for potentially injured miners at a dwarven outpost on Sundermount.

Leliana didn't have any particular desire to fight them. But if it came to a battle, she was confident she could handle the small group. The dwarf was dangerous and would have to be killed first. The healer, Anders, would pose little threat and could be saved for later. If things did not go her way, she could incapacitate and hold the elven girl hostage, as Hawke and the dwarf were obviously very protective of her. Hawke herself needed to be left for last, to be reasoned with or killed as Leliana's instincts dictated.

As she listened to the small group laugh and joke just beyond her hiding place, she knew it would bring her no pleasure to kill them. They seemed friendly enough, and much kinder than most she had met during her time as an Orlesian Bard or even her days serving the Chantry. But if they were a threat to the people of Kirkwall, her orders dictated that she would have to eliminate them. She needed a plan in place should the worst come to pass.

"So what other manner of beasts did the Dalish feast on?" Varric enquired. "I could entertain quite a crowd at the Hanged Man with such stories."

"All manner of things," the Dalish said. "Bugs, birds, deer. Even wolves from time to time if our hunters were quick enough…"

Leliana smiled, remembering a similar conversation with Mahariel at camp one day. Alistair had been complaining about the roast deer they were having for supper (which Zevran had unfortunately burned while cooking) and Shale had been the inquisitive one to ask their resident Dalish about their eating habits.

"_Speak," the golem had said. "What does its people eat when lacking sustenance?"_

_"__My people?" Lyna had replied. She had chewed her meal for a few moments, thinking hard. "Food is always scarce, even in the forests. We eat whatever we can get our hands on. Mushrooms, birds, even bugs from time to time."_

_"__Sorry," Alistair had said, wrinkling his nose. "But that's disgusting. You ate _bugs_? Wriggly legs and all?"_

_"'__Tis not unheard of," Morrigan had chipped in from her side of the fire. "Even in the Wilds, Mother and I were forced to sometimes scavenge like baser creatures. Not all of us were treated to a royal upbringing, Alistair."_

_"__I'd hardly call my upbringing _royal_," Alistair had muttered._

_"__Yet you had your food prepared by your caretaker?"_

_"__Well…"_

_"__And you knew from day-to-day that there would be more?" Lyna added._

_"__But…"_

_Lyna said nothing, just grinned and sank her teeth into her charred deer leg. Alistair glared at her, then looked down at the hunk of meat in front of him and muttered, "Well… it's not so bad, I guess."_

_Leliana had shared an unseen grin with Lyna before they both turned back to their meals._

She smiled to herself and leaned back against her rock, looking up into the dark sky. It was a happy time, back then. She missed them all, even the more prickly members of the group like Sten and Shale. She even had days when she missed the challenge of verbally sparring with Morrigan.

She looked down at the dagger between her fingers, then her face drew down in a scowl. They had been family, bound by a bond of friendship that had carried them through an entire Blight. Hawke's companions were similar, bound together by a similar bond of comradery.

If it came to it, could she destroy another family? And in the very same way her own had been torn apart?


	8. I AM GREED

**Sundermount (the next day)**

"So, Varric, is this the place?"

Varric hooked his thumbs in his belt. "Looks like it. I think the giant sign that reads _Zhaminar Lyrium Mine_ is a dead giveaway."

"But what about the workers?" Merrill said. "Shouldn't there be dwarves around here?"

They had been walking since dawn and had come across no sign of other people on the road. As they approached Sundermount, Hawke had noticed a suspicious lack of wildlife as well. And the closer they got the mountain, the quieter things got. Even the birds had long since stopped chirping.

Now that they had arrived, things were even creepier. The entire area was so dead it sent a shiver up Hawke's spine. There was an unnatural air about the place, like the entire mountain was holding its breath in anticipation of what would happen next. It seemed as if even the clouds in the sky had stopped moving. There were no signs of the dwarves or their operation save for the loaded mine carts waiting outside the gaping tunnel entrance leading down into darkness.

Anders sniffed the air a few times with a grimace. "What is that stink? Smoke?"

Varric followed suit, turning his nose up and sniffing a few times. "Tunnel fire. Common occurrence in mines like this. The miners accidentally uncover a gas pocket, someone lights a smoke, and the whole thing goes up like a match."

Merrill wrinkled her nose, her tattooed face scrunching up in disgust. "Wouldn't the dwarves know better than to light fires?"

"Normally? Yes. Yes they would."

Hawke motioned for them to fan out and look for survivors. The path leading up to the mine entrance was completely devoid of any signs of life, save for a few mining carts and the deserted tents for the workers. She pulled the cover off one of the carts and found crate after crate of fresh-mined lyrium, glowing pale blue in the morning sun.

"Odd," she said, "for miners to leave their product out in the open like this. Shouldn't they have mercenaries guarding this stuff?"

Anders narrowed his eyes, grimacing. "The mercenaries may have met the same fate as the dwarves. I sense that the Veil is very thin here."

Merrill nodded. "I feel it too. That tension in the air. Like just before a thunderstorm."

"Speaking as the only one with no magic-sense," Varric grumbled, "do you think we're safe here?"

"I don't know. The Veil is usually only this thin in places of great power or areas that have seen more than their fair share of death. Neither is a particularly promising, and both options complicate things."

"You're adorable, Blondie," Varric said. "But the question I was really asking was _are there going to be demons_?"

"Oh," Anders said. "Then the answer is possibly."

"Probably," Hawke corrected. She pulled the cover back over the lyrium cart. "This mine must have been packed with lyrium. If the Veil was already thin here, it could only make things worse."

"How so?"

"Lyrium, particularly in such a raw, compact state, can act as a conductor for magic," Hawke explained. "That's why so many mages have a lyrium crystal embedded into the head of their staff. With the Veil in such a weakened state, even a single stray bolt of magic could… _ricochet_, becoming more and more powerful as it went. It could tear a hole right through to the Fade. Demons or other spirits would be able to pass freely as they wished."

"That's… that's right." Anders sounded surprised. "Where did an apostate learn advanced magic theory like that?"

Hawke grinned at him. "Even an apostate has her sources. My father was a former Circle mage. He taught me and my sister everything he knew."

"He taught you well. Hawke is right. Once we go inside, we need to be careful using any kind of offensive magic. Elemental magic should be passable, but spirit magic – anything that draws on the power of the Fade – will cause _severe_ problems."

"Lucky for you I'm here," Varric said. "Bianca doesn't rely on any fancy spells. Bet you're glad I didn't let that dwarf enchant her now, huh?"

"It was a _suggestion_, Varric," Hawke rolled her eyes. "You didn't have to take it to heart."

Merrill cocked her head, closing her eyes. "I sense… there are indeed spirits about. But I can't tell whether they're good or bad."

"Since when do the good spirits ever show up in the real world? It's always some evil demon hell-bent on possession or world domination. It's like their thing."

"Not all spirits are evil," Merrill insisted. "There are nice ones too. I remember talking with a spirit of beauty when I was younger. It was incredible. She was so happy about everything, so joyful and exuberant, and…"

She blushed. "She thought I was pretty."

"Well," Varric sighed, unslinging his crossbow and feeding a bolt into the weapon, "let's get this over with then. No point in waiting around."

Hawke nodded. "I'll take point. Merrill, watch our backs."

They approached the mine entrance, wary for any surprise ambushes or spirits. This far from the city, the guard couldn't keep a handle on the level of criminal activity. On Sundermount anything was possible, from Tal-Vashoth rebels to mercenaries to angry demons. Considering just where they were, the latter was far more likely.

Hawke disliked this place on sight. It was too still, and all the forest seemed unnaturally quiet. There were no birds chirping, no frogs calling, not even trees creaking in the distance. Like Merrill had said, the world seemed unnaturally frozen.

They reached the entrance to the mines, a yawning chasm in front of them that led down into pitch darkness. They paused, each of them obviously not wanting to take the first step. Varric picked up a stone and tossed it as far as he could manage, and they listened to it clatter down farther and farther until it faded away.

Anders suddenly fidgeted, adjusting his collar. "Yeah… I'm not sure I should go in there."

"Why not?" Hawke turned back to him. "Are you all right?"

He rubbed his forehead. "It's difficult to explain. Justice gets… agitated near places like this. It becomes harder to push him back when the Veil is this thin. He's more… forceful."

Hawke stepped closer and put a hand on his shoulder. "Do you want to sit this one out? If there are wounded inside, we could probably bring them out to you."

He shook his head, taking a deep breath. "No. I won't back down from what needs to be done. I can control him. I think."

"Okay. As long as you're sure."

"I'm sure," he said, and drew his staff from over his shoulder. "Can we just go?"

"If you insist," Hawke said. She tapped the bladed end of her staff against the ground and the amber-colored orb at the end began glowing brightly. She held it out and stepped into the darkness, letting her staff shed glowing orange light across the rough stone walls. After a few short moments, Varric followed her. The final two came last, cautiously stepping down into the shadows. At the rear of the group, Merrill summoned a light spell of her own, ensuring plenty of illumination lit their way.

The tunnel was narrow and the rough floor was steep enough that finding secure footing was difficult. Hawke kept the tip of her staff close to the ground to illuminate any loose rocks or potholes. Still, progress was slow. Hawke glanced over her shoulder and saw the tunnel entrance shrinking away to a tiny pinprick of light.

"Have I ever mentioned," Varric grumbled, stumbling over a loose rock on the ground, "how much I _hate_ underground tunnels?"

"Only every time we happen to go underground," Hawke shot back. "Just keep an eye out for any of your dwarven friends."

"Trust me," he said, hefting Bianca closer to his shoulder. "If they're down here, we'll smell them long before we see them."

"I don't like tunnels or caves either," Merrill murmured from the rear of their group. "The last time I was in a cave like this… well, it didn't go very well for anyone."

"Really?" Varric said, picking his way around a particularly loose boulder in the ground. "You'll have to tell me about it sometime. I'll even let you drink from the Hanged Man's Storyteller Mug."

Merrill was staring off into space, as if lost in thought. "No thank you. It's not a very happy story."

"The good ones rarely are, Daisy."

They reached a junction now, where the path split off into two separate directions. The entrance to the mine was now completely hidden from sight. Merrill shivered and said, "Oh, I wish I had brought my heavier armor. It's so cold down here and this chainmail feels like ice."

"So which way do we go?"

Hawke sighed, glancing down both paths. "There's still no sign of the miners. Most people would suggest we split up, but this place…"

"The Veil tension…" Anders murmured with a pained scowl. "It's getting worse. Like… like the deeper we go, the thinner it gets. It's not torn, but it's-"

"Frayed," Hawke supplied. "Like it's full of little tiny holes and it could all snap at a moment's notice."

"So why haven't we seen demons?" Varric said. "Usually they're crawling all over shit like this."

"Not every Veil tear is an open invitation for demons," Merrill pointed out. "Sometimes they can feel that the Veil is thinned, but they don't want to leave."

"Why not?"

"Demons are much weaker in the physical world," Anders explained. "It's why they have to possess people's bodies. And not all demons are willing to make that sacrifice. They want to stay in the Fade, where it's nice and cozy and they can have all the power they want. Demonic possession is actually rarer than you think."

"Right," Varric grumbled. "And it's just our rotten luck that we keep running into abominations?"

"Something like that," Hawke said. She sighed and leaned on her glowing staff. "Anders? Any idea where this Veil tension is coming from?"

He shook his head, rubbing his eyes with one hand. "No. I'm trying to… reach out to Justice, but he doesn't want to…"

He thumped his staff against the ground. "Damn it. It's like having a constant migraine. He's not just acting shy, he's… he's _angry_. He doesn't like it here. He wants us to leave."

"That's great," Hawke said. "But we'll deal with that in a moment. Can you at least pinpoint where this shit is coming from?"

"I… give me a minute."

"The left," Merrill suddenly said. "The tunnel to the left."

Varric frowned. "How can you tell?"

Merrill smiled. "I spent my entire childhood researching and studying the Fade and everything inside, spirits and demons alike. And all this tension in the Veil is coming from somewhere down the tunnel to the left."

Varric hefted Bianca and said, "Let's not waste any time, then. Left it is."

The group reluctantly headed down the leftmost tunnel. Thankfully it seemed like the miners had recently been here; the tunnel floor was leveled out and covered by thick planks of wood, the walls had thick gouges and scratches in the rock from pickaxes and mining equipment, and the tunnel roof was supported by thick support struts.

Anders grimaced as they continued down the tunnel. "I'm starting to agree with Varric. This place is creepy. It reminds me too much of the Deep Roads."

"The Deep Roads weren't that bad," Hawke grunted, stepping over a large chunk of rock jutting out of the ground. "Nice panoramic views of lava, enclosed spaces to trap in enemies…"

"Not to mention the pot of gold at the end," Varric grumbled. "But something tells me there isn't going to be anything as shiny at the end of this tunnel."

Hawke chanced raising her voice. "Hello? Is there anyone alive down here?"

Her voice echoed down the tunnel, met with only silence. Hawke frowned and glanced back at Merrill. "Are you sure the Veil tension is coming from this tunnel? I'm not sensing anything."

"Smell of smoke is getting stronger, though," Varric grunted, stifling a cough.

"It's this way," Merrill reassured her. "I'm sure of it."

"It's funny…" Anders murmured as they set off again. He raised his staff, shedding pale blue-white light over the walls that mixed with Hawke's amber glow further up the tunnel and Merrill's pale green from behind them.

"What?"

"Well," the healer said, "the letter stated that there had been no contact from the dwarves here. And we just assumed it was a cave-in or a tunnel fire. But there's no sign of a collapse. No fire, except the smell of smoke. And most of all, no sign of any dwarves. If there was some kind of attack, we'd see bodies or blood or signs of a fight. But here… it's like everyone just vanished."

"You have to admit, Varric, it is odd," Merrill said. "Where is everyone?"

Varric scowled and hefted Bianca tighter against his shoulder. "Let's just keep looking."

The scent of smoke was getting stronger the deeper they went and the floor was soon obscured by thick clouds of gray mist. Merrill cried out loudly as they rounded a corner, causing the entire group to spin to her with weapons raised. But she was simply hopping up and down, rubbing her foot and saying, "Sorry! Sorry! I stubbed my toe on a rock. Wasn't looking where I was going."

Varric sighed and lowered his crossbow. "Mind keeping it a little quieter, Daisy? We still don't know what may be down here with us."

Before Merrill could apologize again, the stone ceiling above their heads trembled and a wave of heat rolled over them from further down the tunnel. Hawke grimaced as a loud noise that sounded suspiciously like a clap of thunder echoed through the tunnel.

"_Who dares to disturb my slumber__?"_

The voice was carried on another clap of thunder, so loud it sent pebbles raining down from the ceiling. With each word, a heavy cloud of smoke came roaring from up the tunnel, enveloping Hawke and the others in a thick, hot fog. In moments the entire tunnel was obscured from view, shrouded by a thick cloud of dark, foul-smelling smog.

Hawke was instantly blinded, and while she could hear the others coughing or crying out around her, she couldn't see even the faintest out line of them. She wondered if she should light a smokeless fireball spell to cut through the smoke, but decided against it; the slightest mistake and she might trigger a hidden lyrium pocket and tear through to the Fade.

She flailed slightly before her hand found the rough tunnel wall, giving her some idea of her position. To her right, Anders tapped the end of his staff against the ground, causing the crystal at the tip to glow an even brighter blue and slowly glow through the smoke. He waved a hand in front of his face, grimacing at the smell while Merrill coughed heavily behind him, doubled over.

"I'm going to go out on a limb," he said, "and assume that wasn't a dwarf."

"Your hunch to head this way was right after all, Daisy."

Merrill was still coughing and rubbing her throat, but she managed to choke out, "Told you so…"

Hawke narrowed her eyes. "That Fade tension is getting worse. I don't like this."

Anders glanced at her. "Demon?"

She nodded. "Demon."

Varric shouldered his crossbow, squinting hard to see through the smoke. "Then let's get in there, kill whatever we have to, and get the hell out of here."

It was only a few short minutes of hiking through the smoke before the tunnel widened into a larger chamber. Anders and Hawke both conjured up bright lights from their staves to illuminate their surroundings, while Merrill used her magic to force the smoke surrounding them up towards the ceiling high above, at least partially clearing the area and allowing them to see. And as soon as Hawke saw what surrounded them, she froze in place.

Glowing blue lyrium deposits surrounded them on all sides; protruding from the walls, the floor, even sparkling like stars through the dark clouds of smoke high above them. There had to be at least a hundred cartloads of the stuff in this cavern. It was everywhere they looked, pulsing with a sickening, synchronized beat.

Anders and Merrill were similarly cautious, staring at the lyrium with wide eyes. They had good reason to be wary; in its unprocessed form, lyrium could instantly kill a mage if the mage simply touched it. Merrill quickly scooted away from a crystal deposit that was dangerously close to her bare foot, clutching her wooden staff tightly in her hands. She glanced around with wide eyes and murmured, "I don't like it in here. It's too scary. Like all of your ghost stories, Varric."

"Something tells me," Varric said, stepping forward and staring ahead with narrowed eyes, "this is gonna be worse."

Rising up out of the center of the cavern was a massive stone pillar, easily five meters thick and so high it managed to connect back into the ceiling far above. More lyrium covered the pillar, pulsating rhythmically in time with all the rest.

The entire room shook as that same dark voice once again boomed, "_Who dares to disturb my slumber__?_"

Hawke could finally see the source of the voice: embedded in the pillar was an enormous stone skeleton. Its eyes were a pair of glowing green crystals, and its body was covered with gem-encrusted slabs of stone, like armor. Frozen as it was, it could only turn its head to follow the small group as they approached. The carved stone skull grated and scraped against the rock as the statue fixed its glowing green "eyes" on the small group.

"_WHAT HAVE WE HERE?_" the voice said. The gravelly sound reminded Hawke of stones grinding together, making her grimace and fight back the urge to cover her ears. "_Newcomers? Why do you dare violate this sacred place you're your presence?__"_

"Careful," Anders murmured, staff held at the ready. "This is a demon if ever I saw one."

"Not like any demon I've ever seen," Varric murmured. "Looks almost like a Golem. And what's it made of? Gemstones?"

"I wouldn't get any ideas," Hawke murmured. "Hands in your pockets, yeah?"

Varric sniffed in irritation. "You're no fun anymore, Hawke."

The demon's voice rang out once again, shaking the stone beneath their feet. "_Behold mortals! Look upon Greed the Mighty! Greed the Beautiful__!"_

Hawke glanced at her dwarven friend. "See? What do you think happens if you try to steal gems from a demon called _Greed the Mighty_?"

"_I AM GREED THE ALL-POWERFUL_," the demon continued. "_GAZE UPON ME AND BASK IN MY GLORY!"_

Varric snorted, staring up at the skeleton. "Try _Greed the Immobile_. Don't know if you've taken a look in a mirror lately, Precious, but you obviously aren't going to lording over us any time soon."

Greed turned its blazing gemstone eyes on the dwarf and let out a deep, gravelly rumble. "_The insolence of mortal beings. Were we in the Fade, I would have you flayed alive and your corpse hung by its entrails from the tallest towers of the Black City__!_"

Hawke nudged her friend. "Try not to piss off the giant stone demon, all right? At least not until we know exactly what it is."

Anders took a cautious step forward. "It almost looks like the rock wraith in the Deep Roads. The Hunger Demon? Just… shinier."

"_Remove yourself from my presence, fleshed one__,_" Greed boomed, its stone skull rotating to track Anders' approach. "_Only the most privileged may gaze upon my countenance__. IT IS A TESTAMENT TO MY GENEROSITY YOU DO NOT LIE DEAD AT MY FEET ALREADY._"

Anders grimaced and stepped away, rubbing his forehead. "Whatever it is, Justice doesn't like it. I… I think the two have met before."

"What do you mean?"

"Justice… he wants to come out. To take over. But I'm not letting him. We need to know what this thing is, and his anger won't help anything."

While Anders stepped away, Hawke glanced at Merrill, who was simply staring at the giant skeleton trapped in the stone. "Well? You're our resident demon expert. Any ideas?"

The elven mage stared at the massive demon. "It's… a demon of pride. Very powerful. Very old. Someone must have built this skeleton here long ago. And then they summoned the spirit here. The skeleton was meant to house the spirit, and it became trapped here."

"Who in their right minds would willingly summon a Pride Demon down here?" Varric asked.

Merrill shrugged, her gaze fixed on Greed. "Sundermount was used by many. It was under Tevinter control centuries ago, and a haven for the Elven Empire long before that. Who knows who used this place?"

"_Those who summoned me to this wretched plane have long since gone back to dust__,"_ Greed rumbled, trembling in its enclosure. "_Yet I remain. A testament to the power of the Fade and the immortality of my presence. Kneel, mortals, and beg for my favor__._"

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "That's not going to happen."

_"__Defiance. How typical. Your bravado counts for nothing, fleshed one. Soon, I shall once again be free. And all the world will tremble before my beauty and majesty!__"_

"Hawke… what does it mean?" Varric said, tightening his grip on its crossbow.

Hawke pursed her lips in silence, then raised her staff to shed light over more of the area. As soon as she did, she saw dark figures scampering away from the approaching light. Merrill spotted the movement as well and her eyes widened. She clutched her staff close to her chest and murmured, "Oh no."

Hawke sent a glowing orb high above them, shedding warm amber light over the whole area. The spreading light illuminated a horde of short, stocky figures surrounding them, crouched on glowing deposits of lyrium and staring at them with cold, dead eyes. They were clutching shovels and pickaxes in their meaty hands, their faces long and gaunt as they slowly surrounded their prey.

"Well Varric," Hawke said with a scowl, "I think we found your missing dwarves."


	9. Merrill's Decision

Leliana knelt outside the mouth of the cave, tracing her fingertips through the dirt around a clear boot print in the ground. It was small, but also wider than usual with a flat toe. A dwarf's footprint, but it was at least a few days old.

She narrowed her eyes and stood, staring down into the mine tunnel. The smell of smoke and sulfur was heavy in the air, drowning out the sweet and pleasant scent of the forest that surrounded the mine. There were signs that the mine had indeed been inhabited, and recently too. But if Hawke was truly investigating the disappearance of local dwarven miners, she had gotten here far too late; there was no sign anyone had disturbed this area in days.

Leliana drew her hood over her eyes, debating whether to follow the small group down into the mines. It was a perfect ambush point; dark, twisting tunnels, dead ends, sudden pitfalls… everything needed to ensnare an unsuspecting mage.

She frowned. _And with the lyrium in the mine, Hawke and her associates would be forced to rely on elemental magic only. Still dangerous, but much more manageable than spirit magic._

But the more her plan fell into place, the more the letter sent from Dorothea drifted back into her memory: _I cannot stress enough that if the accused are doing no harm, they are to be left to their own devices._

Leliana still couldn't tell if Hawke was dangerous or not. She was an apostate, as were her associates; she had irrefutable proof of that already. But was she hurting innocents? Was she a blood mage? Was she a potential threat to the Chantry? That was harder to answer.

Her bow was slung over her shoulder, strung and ready to use in a moment's notice. But while her ambush plan was near-perfect, she didn't want to fight. Not yet. If possible, she should try to approach Hawke peacefully, without alerting the apostate to her true purpose here, and attempt to initiate contact. But how best to do that?

She could find Hawke in the mines and offer her assistance in finding the dwarves. It would not be so surprising; Leliana was the infamous Left Hand of the Divine, it was true, but she was also still a lay sister of the chantry, sent to perform tasks ordinary priests or priestesses could not. And while there was no guarantee the mage would accept, but it would give Leliana insight into Hawke's motivations.

_Regardless of what I decide_, she thought, _my path takes me into that mine. There is no alternative_.

So she sighed, then hoisted her bow into her hand and stepped down into darkness.

* * *

Varric pivoted, sighting in on each dwarf that was surrounding them. Hawke pointed the bladed end of her staff out, tracking one of the miners hefting a heavy pickaxe. She may not be able to use spirit magic with this much lyrium surrounding her, but her staff was more than a simple walking stick. Merrill watched the rear of their group, eyes darting from one stocky dwarf to another. And Anders remained in the center of them all, ready to protect or heal anyone who needed it.

"What was the one thing I asked you?" Varric snapped, turning to track a snarling dwarven miner. "The _one thing_? _Will there be demons_, I asked. _No_, you said. _The Veil is thin, but it's still intact. No demons_. You were bullshitting us all, weren't you?"

"Get with the times, Varric," Anders said, the crystal at the tip of his staff glowing a bright, almost blinding blue to reveal the terrain around them. "There always seem to be demons when Hawke gets mixed up in things."

Hawke's scarred face pulled down in a scowl. "Don't pin this on me. This was all Varric's idea."

"Maybe…" Merrill murmured anxiously, "…maybe they just want to talk?"

"_YOU WILL BOW BEFORE MY MAJESTY_," Greed thundered from the pillar in the center of the cavern. "_OR YOU WILL DIE. MY FAITHFUL SUBJECTS WILL SEE TO THAT_."

At the demon's words, the miners let out a furious roar, hoisting their weapons to the sky or slamming them against the ground. The enraged clash grew louder and louder until it drowned out all other sound. Then Greed let out a dark rumble and they all fell into silence.

"Yeah," Hawke sighed. "I don't think they want to talk."

"Well neither do I," Varric growled. He sighted in on the nearest dwarf and fired a crossbow bolt into the dirt at the man's feet. The dwarf hopped back, then fixed Varric with a dark and dangerous scowl.

Feeding another bolt into his weapon, the arbalist raised his voice until it echoed through the chamber. "All right, Precious!" he shouted. "Call off your goons before someone gets-"

He was cut off when a heavy stone whistled through the air and hit him in the temple. He staggered back with a curse, holding his face.

"Uh-oh," Merrill said.

The rest of the dwarves took this as their signal to attack; they sprinted forward with a cacophonous battle cry. In a matter of moments, the tense stillness of the cavern was shattered and the area erupted into motion. Dwarves scrambled over glowing outcroppings of lyrium, leaped over tall rocks in their path, even shoved at each other in their bloodthirsty clamor to reach the adventurers that had invaded their inner sanctum.

Hawke backpedaled and hit the nearest cluster of dwarves with a telekinetic Mind Blast, sending them sprawling into the dirt and stone that surrounded them. Another resisted the magical surge and closed on her, raising a hefty pickaxe. Hawke pivoted and brought the shaft of her staff down across his forehead, making him stagger away. She planted a boot in his back and sent him sprawling into his onrushing companions.

Behind her, she saw Anders raise a magical shield around Merrill, who was busy fending off attacks to their rear. She clenched a tiny fist and ripped a large chunk of rock from the ground, sending it flying at the nearest dwarf. The hunk of stone hit the miner square in the chest, knocking him off his feet. Merrill then took a step back and thrust her staff into the air. All around her, pillars of stone erupted from the ground, sending dwarves flying.

Varric was firing arrows in virtually all directions as fast as Bianca could manage. Hawke could hear the thick bolts screeching through the air, followed quickly by the screams of miners that were hit by his attacks. One miner tried swinging at him with a thick shovel and Varric easily ducked the blow, then struck him in the face with the stock of his weapon before firing point blank into the man's chest.

"No killing!" Hawke shouted over the din of battle. "We're supposed to be _rescuing_ these people, remember?"

"Not sure we have a choice!" Anders shouted back. He sent out a Mind Blast of his own before telekinetically pinning a miner to an outcropping of lyrium. Merrill took advantage of this and pummeled the dwarf into unconsciousness by summoning a storm of rocks that swirled around him in a violent whirlwind.

"Blondie's right!" Varric shouted, backing up as more and more miners swarmed toward them. "We're outnumbered, Hawke! No choice but to fight back!"

Hawke scowled and summoned a Fireball spell, drawing on her inner mana before unleashing the blaze out and scattering the approaching dwarves.

"Be careful where you shoot that!" Anders shouted at her. "If you accidentally hit the lyrium, we could bring this whole cavern down around our ears! Elemental magic only, and _don't_ hit the big glowing crystals!"

"Noted!" Hawke grimaced as she thrust her staff forward and unleashed a thick torrent of flame that engulfed a knot of oncoming attackers. They staggered away, screaming and desperately trying to douse the magic flame that now crawled up and down their bodies.

Elemental magic, as long as they were careful, would not react with the lyrium crystals. There was nothing wrong with using magic to draw upon the inherent elements of the natural world. But if any of the mages present were to draw on their more powerful spirit magic, unleashing spirit bolts or turning their opponents into Walking Bombs, the lyrium could send them all to the Maker's bosom before they could so much as blink.

Hawke ducked a large stone thrown at her head, then raised her hand and threw a stone of her own back at her attacker. A head-sized boulder ripped itself from the ground and smashed into one of several heavily-armored humans fighting with the dwarves; mercenary guards from the camp, no doubt.

Hawke felt sweat bead her forehead at the overwhelming expenditure of mana. _Using elemental magic isn't so bad_, she thought. _More tiring, but I guess it's also more satisfying to watch the bad guys run around like flaming headless chickens than to simply disintegrate them anyway._

She projected a weak protection field in the air in front of her to block the incoming blow of a pickaxe, then thrust her staff forward and unleashed a focused blast of telekinetic energy that sent dwarves staggering, their heels digging into the dirt as they tried to resist the force pushing at them. It didn't knock them out of the fight, but it did give Hawke a few precious moments to catch her breath.

"_SUMBIT YOURSELVES TO MY WILL_," Greed thundered from its pillar. Hawke glanced up to see dwarven miners swarming around its massive feet, hammering away at the pillar with shovels, axes, and other mining equipment. They were frantic, almost rabid in their rush to please their demonic master. And the way they were chipping away at the rock face, it almost looked as if-

"Please tell me they aren't trying to let that thing out," she groaned. She slashed at an onrushing miner with the bladed end of her staff and the man crumpled to her feet. Her hand raised, levitating his limp body before throwing the body through the air at another opponent.

"We can't let that happen!" Anders shouted. "If Greed escapes-"

"Yeah, yeah," Varric grunted, firing a swift three-shot salvo at a knot of hammer-wielding miners. All three fell, clutching black-feathered crossbow bolts sticking from their chests. "He gets out, he trashes Kirkwall and then the world, and everything is gloom and doom until the end times. Why does _everything_ we do always end up like this?"

"Don't look at me," Hawke shouted as she kicked an onrushing man in the face, sending him crashing to the ground. "This was your brilliant idea."

They retreated until all four were back-to-back, each fighting desperately against superior numbers. Hawke used her talent for pyromancy to keep the majority of dwarves on one side at bay. These miners were swiftly picked off by swift shots or explosive rounds fired from Varric's crossbow. Behind them, Merrill continued to slam pillars of stone and showers of rock into her attackers while Anders ensured she was protected by magic barriers so no miners got too close to her position.

"Just how many of these guys _are _there?!" Varric shouted.

"Lost count at twenty!" Hawke shot back. "We've still got thirty more before we beat Isabela's record."

Varric lowered his crossbow while he fed a new magazine of bolts into the weapon. "Then let's get to it. I'll be damned if I let that smug Rivaini keep bragging that she's been through the worst fights in the world."

Hawke grimaced as someone threw a shovel at her head. She deflected the projectile with her staff, then unleashed a storm of lighting from her palms that sent four dwarves into convulsions. But before she could reply to Varric's complaint, a deep, rumbling _crack_ rang out over the battle.

Everyone – the dwarven attackers included – froze and looked to the source of the sound. Hawke looked up to find Greed was finally mobile, and _very _agitated. It was tugging hard against the stone that was imprisoning it and the thick rock binding its left arm was cracking and crumbling under the force of the demon's power. With a fountain of pulverized rock and tiny lyrium fragments, part of the pillar exploded out and Greed yanked one gem-encrusted arm free.

The entire cavern was silent, all eyes fixed on the demon. Hawke almost felt as if she was drawn to the sight, like she couldn't get away.

The dwarves at Greed's feet retreated as the debris began to rain down upon them, shrinking away into the shadows with heads bowed and hands raised in supplication. Greed's emerald eyes pulsed malevolently as it slowly twisted and stretched its free arm. It raised a skeletal stone hand to its face, flexing thick stone fingers with a deep grating of stone on stone. It slowly clenched a massive fist, letting out a deep chuckle.

"_IT HAS BEEN MANY CENTURIES SINCE I WAS FREE," _it boomed. "_I HAD ALMOST FORGOTTEN THE SENSATION_."

It slowly turned its glowing green eyes on Hawke and the others. "_NOW DO YOU SEE? NOW DO YOU UNDERSTAND THE MAJESTY OF MY PRESENCE?"_

With an almighty wrench, it yanked its other arm free, smashing more of the center pillar in the process. Dwarves scattered, shouting and screaming as head-sized chunks of rubble rained down from the air above them. Several miners were crushed under the debris, but Greed paid them no mind. It reached down and ripped away the stone that enclosed its feet, hauling its thick stone "boots" away from the pillar. With a thundering roar that shook the ground beneath them, Greed surged forward and ripped away fully from the pillar. It staggered forward and collapsed into the ground, as if it had forgotten how to use its legs.

Hawke and the others watched the proceedings silently, their attackers having once more drifted back into the shadows. Varric was staring at the gigantic demon with wide eyes. When Greed began once again clambering to its feet, he let Bianca hang limp in his hands. "Well… shit."

Hawke gripped her staff tightly, narrowing her eyes. "You were right, Anders. It's like the Bone Pit all over again."

Anders scowled, tensing as Greed rose to its full height: over five meters tall. "Except we knew we could kill the dragons there. Do you have any idea how to kill this thing?"

"No. No I don't."

"Can we lure it outside?" Merrill asked. "Somewhere we don't have to be so careful of our magic?"

"Not sure," Hawke said. "Although we could always try and hope he gets stuck in the tiny tunnels."

"Something tells me," Anders hissed, "that he'd just bash his way out of the mountain and come after us."

Greed slowly stretched, flexing its gem-studded arms and looking up to the ceiling before letting out an earth-shattering, bestial roar. It stretched languidly, then turned its emerald eyes to Hawke and her group.

"_AS I SAID, DEFIANCE IS POINTLESS,_" it boomed. It took one massive step forward, sending dwarves scattering in all directions. "_I AM BEYOND YOUR PITIFUL MORTAL ABILITIES._"

"He's not wrong," Varric muttered. "Bianca's a good girl, but I don't think she's ready for this."

Hawke stared at her surroundings. Anders noticed her gaze fall on the lyrium crystals and called, "No, don't even think about it, Hawke."

"What choice do we have? Varric is right; we're not ready for a fight like this."

"You could kill us all!"

"And if I don't try," Hawke shouted back, "_Greed_ will kill us all!"

To punctuate her opinion, Greed reached down and ripped up a massive lyrium-studded chunk of the ground. It hefted it back and hurled it at them. The projectile roared through the air and only a well-timed bolt of fire from Hawke's staff broke it up. Anders projected a magical shield around them, protecting them from the rain of debris that quickly followed.

"Hawke is right," Varric grimaced as head-sized chunks of stone fell all around them. "Unless you plan on taking on the jewel-encrusted monstrosity all by your lonesome, Blondie."

Anders took a few steps back, raising his staff across his chest as the shield dissipated around them. "No. We can't risk it. Take him on like we've been dealing with the dwarves. I'll hang back and protect you with my own magic. I can heal you if need be."

Hawke glanced at Varric, ignoring Greed roaring in the background. She grunted, lighting a fireball spell at the end of her staff. "Guess we're doing it the hard way."

"Look on the bright side." The dwarf shrugged and fed another bolt into his crossbow. "It'll make for a much better story back at the Hanged Man."

The moment Leliana set foot inside the cave system, she knew something was wrong. The air was too close in here, too still and dead to be so full of energy and tension. She walked slowly down the sloping entrance path, careful not to accidentally dislodge a stone that could alert an enemy to her presence.

_No signs of any of the dwarves Hawke and her companions were sent to find_, she thought. _And no signs of Hawke herself either._

She knew magic permeated the area; she was no mage, but she could feel it in the shiver running down her spine. She slowly drew a barbed, raven-feather arrow from the quiver on her back, hooking it to her bowstring and pulling out the tension, ready to fire at a moment's notice. Her daggers were sheathed over each shoulder, ready as a backup weapon should a possible fight grow too close for comfort.

She narrowed her eyes, almost able to feel the pulses of magic racing through the glowing lyrium embedded in the walls. This was a place of great power, a very ancient place housing very ancient magic. If she had been any other Chantry sister, she probably would have dropped to her knees to pray for the Maker's guidance in this dark and alien place. But she was the Nightingale, and had survived far more dangerous places than this.

She knelt at a fork in the path, tracing her fingers over a set of deep scuff marks in the dirt at her feet. Fresh tracks, made within the last hour. The depth of the tracks and the wide space between them suggested they were made by the stocky dwarf's steel-plated boots as he headed down the left tunnel.

She straightened with a sigh. _So Hawke went this way_. _I'm not far behind._

What was she hoping to find in this Maker-forsaken place? The dwarves were obviously gone; prey to the magic coursing through this area, no doubt. Why not simply turn back and inform her employer that they had all disappeared?

But then, Leliana herself would never settle for such shoddy investigative work. She would want to know what had happened, how, and why. Her inquisitive nature and her history as an Orlesian spy would not allow her to rest until she discovered the secrets this mine had uncovered.

And they had definitely uncovered something. Leliana knew that a place this inundated with seething magical power was caused by something far more powerful than the lyrium crystals in the walls. She suspected demons would be involved, though she prayed that it was something far more benign.

There were wooden slats on the floor now, and signs of recent mining activity. Hawke's group had been through here as well. Leliana could still catch the faint scent of fresh-cut grass and pine needles; the scent of a Dalish elf.

She was familiar with that particular scent, though it only brought back painful memories. But before such thoughts could consume her, she heard a deep rumble and the crash of falling stones. Her eyes narrowed and her body tensed. Was Hawke returning this way?

She didn't think so. She could also hear shouting, and massive, thudding footsteps. These were the sounds of people caught in battle, not of approaching enemies. She broke into a run, sprinting down the tunnel and hoping Hawke wasn't dead already.

Leliana still had many questions to ask, and Hawke still had much to explain.

* * *

Merrill couldn't remember the last time she had fought so many enemies; or such large ones. The dwarves had returned at the bidding of their colossal master and were attacking from all sides with ever-increasing fervor.

She grimaced as she shoved away a dwarf waddling toward her with a shovel held high. If only they weren't penned in by lyrium. She could resort to purer forms of magic, sending out spirit bolts or turning her enemies into walking bombs. It turned her stomach a little to think of the carnage, but there was no denying spirit magic was much more powerful than the elemental spells they were resorting to.

But with the lyrium crystals surrounding them, they couldn't risk it. Elemental magic was safe; using magic to harness natural elements wouldn't react with the lyrium. But spirit magic – _pure_ magic – would cause a chain reaction that could bring this cave down around their ears.

She raised her hand and ripped out a dwarf-sized chunk of dirt from the ground, sending it flying into a knot of onrushing miners, supported by a few of their human mercenary guards. The attackers were scattered, crashing into the ground or the thick glowing crystals that surrounded them. She threw her hands into the air and bound them there with thick plant roots that sprang up from between the rocks and darted forward like striking snakes.

Hawke and Varric were behind her, doing their best to keep Greed at bay. It was no easy feat, but they were managing quite well under the circumstances. Varric was unleashing bolt after bolt at the massive stone golem, having swapped Bianca's typical projectiles with new bolts tipped with explosive arrowheads. The fiery bolts gouged chunks out of Greed's "body" and sent it reeling with a massive roar.

Meanwhile, Hawke was putting her skill with pyromancy to its full use, unleashing gouts of flame that melted away at Greed's pillar-like legs and sent any dwarven supporters diving for cover. Every minute or so, Hawke would gather a ball of fire in her palm and send it flying, shooting up until it exploded against the stone skull that was Greed's head.

Anders was just to Merrill's right, making sure that any lucky hits that managed to penetrate their defenses were either dulled by healing magic or blocked completely by a magical protection field. On several occasions, only Anders' intervention saved Merrill from a stab wound or a blow to the head that would have seriously injured her, if not killed her. She nodded in thanks to the human, then focused herself on her task.

After what felt like an eternity of fighting, the dwarves began to taper off. Fewer and fewer threw themselves at her, and she found herself able to use smaller, less exerting spells to ward them off. She sent a blast of foul, noxious-smelling air shooting from the tip of her staff, causing the last cluster of miners to stagger and cough. While they were still distracted, she trapped them in a cage made from thick pillars of stone that burst from the ground and pinned them against the wall. She panted hard, watching the miners try in vain to claw their way out, then turned to Hawke and the others.

"That's the last of the dwarves!" she shouted over Greed's deafening roar.

"Good!" Hawke shouted, lighting another salvo of fireball spells in her hand. "Now we just have the fifteen-foot demon to worry about!"

Hawke drew back her fist and shot out an overcharged fireball bolt. The resulting explosion knocked one of Greed's emerald eyes out, sending the towering demon into a panic-driven frenzy. It stomped and roared, lashing out at Hawke with heavy, clumsy strikes. Varric shoved his way in front of Hawke, looking to protect his friend, and fired another explosive shot into the demon's stony shoulder.

Greed didn't slow down. It lumbered forward and kicked out with a thick leg, catching Varric full in the chest and sending the dwarf flying head-over heels. Bianca clattered to the ground, firing one last bolt that embedded itself in a trapped miner's neck. The bolt exploded, cracking open Merrill' stone prison and sending bodies sprawling. Varric crashed down a few feet away, his arm bent at a painful-looking angle and his face mashed into the dirt. He didn't rise again.

"Varric!" Hawke shouted in dismay. She lowered her staff and made to sprint after her wounded friend.

"No!" Anders ordered. "Stay there and keep Greed busy! I'll help Varric!"

_But if he leaves,_ Merrill thought, _who will keep Hawke safe from Greed?_

She was never all that good at healing magic or force fields, but she could help in other ways. She thrust her staff forward and began swirling it in a tight figure-eight pattern. At her bidding, thick tendrils of roots began pushing their way up through the ground, slithering up Greed's feet and anchoring him to the floor. Hawke took advantage of this to hit it with a bolt of fire that punched a hole straight through its arm. Greed roared and punched down at her, meaning to squash her like an annoying insect.

Merrill reacted without thinking. She dropped her staff and threw her hands out, projecting the strongest magical protection field she could muster. A shimmering sphere of greenish-white energy enveloped Hawke, and Greed's giant fist smashed against it hard enough to send chips of its stone hand flying into the air. Hawke winced within her protective bubble, as if half-expecting to be dead. Merrill grimaced as she fought to maintain the field.

Maintaining a spell this powerful was tiring, but Merrill ignored her quivering muscles or her fatigued mind and poured all her considerable power into maintaining the protection field. Anders was still busy tending to Varric, so she couldn't depend on him for help. It was up to her.

Greed pulled back and punched again, and Merrill saw the magical light of her barrier flicker. She bit her lip and re-doubled her efforts, strengthening the field with as much mana she could pour into the spell. She could feel sticky, hot blood began to drip down from her nose; a sure sign she was expending too much energy.

Another ground-shaking punch and the field disappeared. Merrill gasped and fell to her knees, exhausted. Hawke wasn't fast enough to dodge Greed's next punch, expecting the protective field to still be there. The blow slammed her against the floor, sending her staff clattering from her hands. She groaned as Greed pulled back, then cried out in pain as it punched down again.

It reared back again and boomed, "_SO NOW YOU SEE THE FOLLY OF MORTAL ARROGANCE. I MAY HAVE BEEN TRAPPED HERE FOR GENERATIONS, BUT MY POWER IS AS DEADLY AS EVER."_

His fist began to descend once more, and this time Hawke would not survive the blow. Merrill couldn't let that happen, couldn't stand idly by and watch her best friend be murdered by a fifteen-foot stone demon. She frantically grabbed for her staff and shoved it forward, not caring what spell she cast as long as it did as much damage to Greed as possible. She summoned up all the mana she had left, then poured it all into her staff.

_Please_, she thought, _let the spell be powerful. Powerful enough to stop Greed. Powerful enough to do _something_ that will save us all._

Her wish was granted; a blaze of purplish light exploded from the wooden shaft of her staff as a spirit bolt screamed out toward Greed's fist. She heard Anders shout, "_No_!" from somewhere behind her, but she didn't care. As long as it stopped Greed from killing Hawke, she could live with Anders' shouting later.

The bolt roared forward, seeming to move in slow motion as Greed's fist descended. But when it hit, it didn't blow the demon's hand off, or send it staggering away from Hawke's limp form. It hit Greed's jewel-encrusted skin and… _ricocheted_.

Merrill covered her eyes as there was a blast of searing white light and the spirit bolt came screeching back toward her. She staggered out of the way and watched as the spirit bolt hit the ground and ricocheted again, flying away toward a cluster of lyrium.

"No!" she shouted, as if the foolish bolt could hear her. "Not that way!"

The spirit bolt hit the lyrium, cracking the crystal's flawless blue surface. The purple glow popped, sending sparks skittering across the ground. The light in the lyrium crystal died, leaving the stone a dull gray color, glowing a brilliant blue only around the newly-formed cracks in its surface.

In the span of an instant, it was as if everything happening in the cavern had stopped; everything fell unnaturally quiet, and everyone – even Greed – was staring at the damaged crystal, hanging on what would happen next.

A high-pitched whistle began to rise from the damaged crystal, like tea beginning to boil. Merrill watched it with slowly widening eyes and thought, _This is not going to be good._

The lyrium shattered, shards flying outward like someone had put their fist through a pane of glass.

Merrill had time to cover her eyes with her hands before a silent explosion rocked the cavern around them and a brilliant flash of deep green light left her seeing stars. She saw a wash of deep green fire erupt from mid-air, roiling and twisting in on itself.

She turned away, letting out a scream as all sound suddenly came rushing back. A heavy wind buffeted her and tugged at her hair. Human-sized hunks of rock were blasted away from the epicenter of an explosion that carved a deep crater in the bedrock beneath her feet. A deep roar enveloped her, drowning out all sounds as she was driven to her knees by the force of the blast.

_Is this it?_ She thought, squeezing her eyes shut. _Did I just kill us all?_

Then the roar slowly died and everything went quiet once again. There were no more explosions, no more shouts, and no more roaring demons. Just…. silence.

She knelt on the hard stone floor, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. But when a good thirty seconds passed and nothing happened, she slowly opened one eye, then the other. She glanced around, snatching up her staff and clutching it tight to her chest.

_Am I dead?_ she thought, wide-eyed. _I thought being dead would be… weirder. I don't feel any different. But the cave…_

The cavern in which she and her friends had been fighting was now bathed in a pulsing, sickly green light. The green glow was overpowering everything else, casting long shadows on the ground and making them jump and twitch in frightful contortions. The lyrium all around her seemed to have dimmed, fading back to a dull gray rather than the usual vibrant blue; almost as if all the magic had been sucked right out of the stones.

The entire area was as still as a grave. No shouts from Hawke or Anders, no roars from Greed, and no clash of weapons from the dwarven miners. She could barely hear herself breathe. Just dead, echoing silence.

"H-Hawke?" she called. "Are you all right?"

As she looked around, she saw that she wasn't alone in the cavern. Hawke and the others were still there, but they were…

_Frozen?_ she thought. _How is that possible? No one used any paralysis magic. And why else would they all be lying about like that?_

Hawke still lay sprawled on the ground, clutching her chest while Greed's fist still loomed over her. Anders was still crouched over Varric's limp form, his hands glowing as he fought to heal the dwarven rogue. And the miners still surrounded them, all either unconscious or trapped in pens of stone or plants.

But no one was moving. They had become as still as statues, like time itself had ceased to have any effect. Merrill shivered and quickly moved forward to pull Hawke away from Greed's hulking form. But before she could get far, she finally heard a sound.

A loud crackle, like a mix of electricity and the snapping of a falling tree branch, hissed out from somewhere behind her. The air sizzled, as if the atmosphere itself was flinching in surprise. She slowly turned around, eyes wide and fearful; whatever this was, she had never seen it in all her studies of magic or demons.

Floating in mid-air behind her was a glowing cloud of glowing green mist, all swirling and pulsing around a thick cluster of green-black crystal that seemed to twist and crack in mid-air. It was strangely beautiful, even if it let out another hissing crackle every few seconds as the sharp-looking crystals drew in to the center of the cloud. The entire misty anomaly was enveloped by threads of brilliant green-white light that undulated and twisted in an almost elegant dance.

Merrill jumped as it let out another crackle and the crystals shrank into a small ball in the center of the mist. Then, slowly, they began to push outward again, twitching and scraping against each other. These crystals seemed to be at the epicenter of the phenomenon, creating a core around which everything else orbited. There was a sharp oval shape surrounding this crystal core that shivered and danced.

But it wasn't clear like the rest of the light. Merrill could see something between the lines of these strands of lightning, and it wasn't the cavern on the other side of the mist. Dark cobblestone and rock peeked through to her view. It was surreal, like looking through a window into another world.

_How strange_, she thought, taking a cautious step forward. _It's almost like… like a doorway. But not any kind of magical doorway I've ever seen. But then, I haven't seen many magical doorways. And I'd never even really seen an actual _door_ until I came to Kirkwall. The aravels always just had those tent-flaps…_

She shook her head. _Focus, Merrill. What is this thing? A portal to another part of Sundermount? It could be. I can almost see something on the other side… Is this what was causing all that Fade tension I was feeling earlier?_

She jumped back and let out a frightened squeak when something came through the portal. A voice: thin, shaking and afraid. Merrill's eyes were even wider than normal as she cautiously stepped toward the cloud.

"_Hello? Hello, is anyone there?_"

She stayed silent. She didn't know what this was or who was talking to her. _Remember what Keeper always said. Don't talk to strangers. Especially strangers communicating through magic._

"_Please,"_ the voice pleaded. "_If anyone is there, please tell me. I'm… I'm so scared."_

Merrill bit her lip. Whoever this was, they were afraid and alone. She knew she shouldn't talk to her but, against her better judgement, she called, "Um… who are you?"

The voice paused. "_Who… is there someone there? Oh, thank the Maker… you need to help me! I need to get out of here! I'm trapped and I don't know where I am!"_

"Who are you?" Merrill repeated.

"_My name… it's been so long… Vali? That sounds right. Yes, my name is Vali. Where are you? What happened?"_

Merrill glanced over her shoulder, as if expecting this all to be some kind of trick. She glanced back to the glowing greenish mist and squeezed her staff for reassurance. "I… I don't know what happened. I'm in a cavern, deep underground. I… used magic I wasn't supposed to. I think the reaction created this thing… I think it's a doorway of some kind."

She took another step closer. "Can I help you? What's wrong?"

Vali's voice was tight with fear. "_I'm trapped in here. I don't know where I am!_"

She paused. "_Who… who are you?"_

Merrill fidgeted. "My name is Merrill. I'm a Dalish mage. And I think you're in the Fade."

"_Merrill?_" Vali said. "_Wait… _the _Merrill?"_

The young elf cocked her head. "I… think so? I'm not sure how many other Merrills there are, even in the Fade. I mean, there could be more, I guess, but I've never met them and-"

Vali interrupted her with a jubilant cry of, "_Thank the Maker!_ _I'm going to be all right!"_

Merrill frowned. "Are you so sure? I haven't actually done anything besides open this… this doorway."

"_I've heard all about you from the spirits of the Fade!" _Vali's voice cried. "_They say you are one of the most brilliant mages they've met in generations!"_

Merrill blushed and stammered, "Oh… w-well, thank you."

"_They say that you're trying to repair one of the ancient Eluvians, and that you are so clever that you can even trick demons into helping you!_"

Merrill blushed deeper. "I… I didn't exactly _trick_ them…"

"_The spirits say they've met you in your dreams and had many conversations with you. They say you know all about spirits and demons and the link between our worlds._ _If anyone can get me out of here, it's you!"_

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Merrill said. She glanced over her shoulder, back at Greed and Hawke. "You see… well, I'm kind of in a spot of trouble on this side. My friends and I… we're fighting a demon."

"_A demon?"_

She nodded vehemently. "A really, really big one called Greed. It's going to kill my friend, Hawke!"

"_Now?"_

"Well… not really. Something happened. Everything on this side froze. No one is moving."

"_That might be me,_" Vali said. "_I could probably get everything un-frozen again. And if I did… well, if you got me out of here, I could help you."_

"How? Do you have weapons?"

"_No, but I can help in other ways. I don't know how long I've been in here, and my body in the real world has certainly gone back to dust by now. But maybe… maybe I could tag along with you? I used to be a mage too. I can use magic to help!"_

That sent red flags up at once. Merrill took a step back and said, "Wait… aren't you a spirit?"

"_Well… sort of. I was born something different, but it was so long ago… I don't quite remember._"

Merrill shook her head. "I'm not going to let another demon come through this doorway. If you mean to harm me, I'll shut it right in your face. Somehow…"

"_Please don't go!"_ Vali begged, causing Merrill to pause. "_I've been in here so long, and I so desperately want to go back to my real home. I… I may not be the kindest or most pure spirit, but I promise not to harm you. And even if I try, you're _Merrill_! You could easily pacify me and send me straight back!"_

Merrill hesitated. It was true that she had more experience with spirits than any other member of her group. Even Anders, who had willingly invited one into his body. How much harm could this one do? She had stopped potential possessions several times since she became the Keeper's apprentice, and could easily do it again. And Vali didn't seem treacherous. Just… lonely. And afraid. In a strange place with no one to turn to.

_Just like me when I first arrived in Kirkwall_, she thought._ And when I needed a friend, Hawke was my helping hand, the one person who was willing to trust me even when all my friends told her not to._

Maybe… maybe she could be that kind of friend to Vali. She liked that idea.

"_I promise_," Vali continued, voice shaking, "_if you let me out, I'll help you with this Greed demon. Then I'll be gone. You'll never have to worry about me again. And if I misbehave, you can send me back here. I won't try and stop you."_

Something was moving in the misty green could again, and it was shooting out forks of brilliant green-hued lightning now. Merrill could feel the tension growing in the air, like the whole cavern was about to explode.

She glanced back over her shoulder at Hawke, lying prone on the ground with Greed towering over her. Vali seemed to sense her indecision, for she whispered, "_Imagine how powerful we could be together. Everyone else would envy our teamwork. We could swat Greed away like a fly and be heroes!"_

Merrill couldn't deny that the thought was appealing. She could imagine Anders clapping her on the back, congratulating her for a job well done while Varric beamed proudly from behind, giving her a silent nod of approval. And Hawke…

She blushed at the thought of just what Hawke would do, but quickly pushed the idea from her mind, lest Vali sense it and bring it to light.

"_Just think of it_," Vali purred. "_Your friends will be talking about it for months to come. They'd love you for it._"

"I… I don't know."

"_I know what they used to call you,_" Vali said slowly. "_Back in your clan. I can hear it on your thoughts. _Demon-bait_… and _Abomination_. Why did they call you that?"_

Merrill's heart sank at the memory. "They… they didn't like that I was repairing the Eluvian. Some friends of mine, Tamlen and Mahariel… they were poisoned by its magic. The rest of the clan thought it was too dangerous to bring it back. That I was risking possession."

She bit her lip. "Hawke and the others think so too. When I first showed them my blood magic… they were afraid. Like I could turn into an abomination at any second. I won't. I know what I'm doing!"

"_And you thought you could use spirits to help you? To repair this… Eluvian?"_

Merrill nodded. "Keeper always said that not all spirits were bad. But when I tried to ask spirits to help me, she always grew so cross. We would argue, and she would shout that demons were influencing me."

She glanced over her shoulder at Greed's frozen mass. "If only she could see me now. She wouldn't think any demons were manipulating me. I'm _fighting_ the demons now."

"_What if you could change their minds? What if you could prove that not all spirits were bad? That some could help you? Wouldn't they forgive you?"_

Merrill didn't think anyone in her clan would ever forgive her; they were too angry. But maybe, just maybe, she could indeed prove them all wrong. Maybe she could prove that she _did _know what she was doing, that it wasn't right to be constantly afraid of the Fade and the magic it created. That spirits could be your _friends, _if only you trusted them!

It was dangerous, but it was also worth it. So she squeezed her eyes shut. "All right. Let's do this… together."

In an instant, the tendrils of green-white light from the mist snapped out and ensnared her arms and legs, trapping her in place. She cried out, struggling against the glowing bonds that slowly began to draw her toward the crystalline mass in the center of the mist, like a spider drawing its prey in along a line of webbing. As she was dragged closer, she saw thin, shadowy arms creep out from the center of the glowing storm, reaching for her with long, spindly fingers.

"Wait!" she cried. "Wait, what are you _doing_?"

A dark chuckle warbled out of the portal. "_Did you really think any sane spirit would stoop to help you, mortal? A foolish little elven girl, playing with forces she does not understand? You are beyond salvation, dear Merrill. You are nothing more than prey now._"

Merrill struggled against the glowing bonds holding her. "No! No, you said you would help! You _promised!"_

"_And I shall_," Vali purred, drawing her ever closer to the green mist. Merrill began sobbing as she was yanked closer, struggling in vain against the magical ties that pulled her in. Her heels dug into the sharp gravel at her feet, but she couldn't slow her approach. "_But I can't kill Greed until I have a suitable body. Yours."_

Merrill tried to summon some spell – any spell – to free herself. Maybe if she could shoot another spirit bolt at the lyrium, she could-

But another tendril of light wrapped around her throat, dragging her headlong into the mist. In the next instant, the world exploded into a thousand slivers of red-hot pain and she threw her head back in a shriek that consumed her entire world. All thoughts of magic were driven from her mind as a dark cloud of shadow enveloped her, sinking into her skin and making her flesh burn as if it were all on fire.

"_Foolish girl_," Vali hissed, her voice no longer thin and afraid. Now it was dark and sinister, more a hiss than a voice. "_You foolish little girl. You belong to _me_ now."_

Merrill saw a flash of green. Then she was plunged into frigid cold and terrifying blackness.

* * *

Hawke wasn't quite sure what happened. One minute she was being pummeled by Greed's fist, the world around her shaking with every subsequent blow. Stars swam in her vision and she knew her armor wouldn't hold up under another fearsome blow.

But the next second, there was an earth-shattering explosion and a thick shockwave of sickly green light. She heard Anders shout, "No!" and then Greed roared out, "_YOU!"_

Hawke craned her aching neck to see none other than Merrill standing in the middle of a maelstrom of green-hued energy, with chunks of rock and lyrium twisting and waving around her like she was the center of a miniature tornado. Her staff lay shattered on the ground next to her and her tiny hands were balled into fists that shone with a sickly green mist.

The spectral wind picked up as Merrill lifted her head to meet Greed's emerald gaze. When the Dalish mage opened her eyes, Hawke let out a choked gasp; they were glowing a bright, pulsating red. Merrill's thin, tattooed face was twisted into a mask of rage and hatred as she reached out and clenched a fist.

Greed let out a strangled croak a half second before its body was twisted and mangled by gigantic invisible hands. In the blink of an eye, its head was yanked around, its arms ripped from their stony sockets, and its legs folded up and mashed against its body. What was left of the demon was rent and torn, crushed together like a child playing with clay.

Merrill let her fist drop and what was left of Greed crashed to the floor, sending bits of rock and gemstone skittering away from the impact. Hawke weakly dragged herself away, wiping at her sweaty brow. She watched as tiny pebbles rained down on Greed's stony carcass. The demon didn't move again, the light glowing behind its emerald eyes suddenly and violently extinguished.

"Wow," she breathed, turning back to Merrill. "Perhaps you could lead with that next time?"

But Merrill wasn't done. As Hawke watched, the tiny elf turned her back and raised her hands to the ceiling, clenching her hands into fists again and murmuring something beneath her breath. That same glowing green mist began to swirl around her palms, and the ground began to shake beneath them.

"Merrill…" Hawke slowly said. "What are you doing?"

The young mage swung back to Hawke. When she spoke, her voice was a twisted, hoarse growl.

"Earning my freedom," she snarled.

Then she ripped her hands down. With a roar, the ceiling high above them gave way. Hunks of stone twice Hawke's size began raining down around her, shaking the ground and spraying her with debris. Hawke covered her eyes and tried to stagger to her feet, but she was too wounded from her bout with Greed to stand. She collapsed to the ground and shouted, "Merrill! What the hell are you _doing_? Stop this!"

But the young elf was already gone, sprinting for the exit tunnel as fast as her bare feet could take her. Hawke watched her flee in disbelief, her pale gray eyes wide.

_Merrill… she would never abandon us! Granted, she would never bring an underground cavern ceiling crashing down around us either, but-_

Any further thought was driven from her mind as a shower of stone pelted her armor. She rolled out of the way as a two-meter-thick chunk of the ceiling slammed into the ground where she had been laying. Another rock just as large smashed to the ground to her right, and yet another one further up.

"The whole cave is collapsing!" she heard Anders shout over the din. "Why did she _do_ that?!"

"I don't know!" Hawke shouted back, trying to crawl through the hurricane of debris to reach her remaining friends. "Just try not to get crushed and we can sort it out later!"

A head-sized chunk of rock hit her square in the back, making her cry out in pain. She clambered up over a small lip and tucked herself against a tall boulder, seeking protection from the cave-in. She heard the miners screaming as rocks pelted them or outright crushed them, but she couldn't fight her way through the storm to save them. Even if she did, they would probably try to kill her anyway.

Suddenly, Anders roared, "_Hawke! Look out!"_

She rolled over in time to see the rest of the ceiling give way; a sea of rocks and gems and dirt raining down on them, coming to swallow her and her friends up whole.

She did the only thing she could think of; she screamed and crossed her arms in an X across her chest. Blue-white light burst from her fists a moment before the entire world came crashing down around her.

* * *

**Kirkwall (Present)**

Cassandra folded her arms, cocking her head in curiosity. "I find it surprising Merrill was so easily drawn in to the demon's lies."

Varric shrugged. "Demons have a way of twisting your senses, Seeker. They tell you what you want to hear, spin stories with a skill that makes even _me_ jealous. You can rant all you want about resisting demonic temptation, but trust me: it's easier said than done."

"The Chantry believes it a threat for a reason," Sister Nightingale added. "Why else would mages be tested with a Harrowing? To resist a demon's temptations in person, rather than simply reading of it."

Cassandra nodded. "Very well. Perhaps there was more happening than we could see."

Varric settled back in his seat, folding his fingers into a steeple. "Demons are a tricky bunch, Seeker. Some of them go their whole existences wanting nothing to do with humans. Others plot and scheme non-stop, trying to worm or weasel their way into our world. And others don't show up for generations until the precise moment when their influence most effective – and the most devastating."

"And this Vali?" the Seeker posed. "She was…?"

"A pride demon," Varric said. "A demon of Validation, sustained by thoughts of being undervalued, unappreciated. As you can imagine, that hit Daisy pretty close to home."

"I have read of such demons," Cassandra said. "They prey upon past experiences and use them as weapons against you."

"Right on the money, Seeker. Why, it's almost starting to sound as if you were right there with us."

Her face drew down in a scowl. "Shut up. I do not need your sarcasm."

He raised his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. Just trying to lighten your mood a bit."

"I wonder why the demon kept its word," Leliana said, rubbing her chin. "Why it killed Greed instead of leaving Hawke and the others to their fate."

Varric shrugged. "Maybe it was a decent sort of demon. Even scheming, conniving body-snatchers have to have some sense of a moral center. Besides, can't a broken promise lead to powerfully self-destructive magic? Curses and the like?"

"You may have a point," Cassandra grudgingly admitted. "But after the demon possessed Merrill, the ceiling collapsed, and you were all trapped… what happened then?"

Varric was about to continue when Sister Nightingale surprisingly beat him to it.

"That," she said, "was where I found them."


	10. Leliana (Reluctantly) to the Rescue!

**Sundermount (Past)**

Leliana felt the explosion before she heard it. The ground rumbled beneath her, as if disturbed by a powerful earthquake, and rocks shook down from the ceiling. She saw heavy stones rattling in the ground, felt a blast of hot air hit her in the face as she staggered back a few steps. Her bow was instantly raised, an arrow drawn back to the anchor point at her chin.

A chorus of screaming and crashing reached her from further down the tunnel, so loud it sounded as if the entire world was ending. Crashing rocks and grinding stone quickly drowned out the sound, followed by a roar of what could only be magical discharge.

_What could possibly have happened now? _She sprinted forward, heart pounding. She didn't come this far just to see Hawke die. Whatever was going on in this place, she needed to stop it.

The tunnel twisted and turned in front of her, but thankfully she came across no more diverging paths. The tunnel was leading her straight to the source of the crashing and screaming, growing louder with each step she took. The ground began to buck worse and worse beneath her feet, until she could barely keep her footing. She threw a hand out to the wall to steady herself, pressing on in spite of the difficulty.

Suddenly, from around a bend up ahead, a trio of dwarven miners came sprinting toward her. They were throwing terrified looks over their shoulders, seemingly unaware of Leliana's presence. They shoved past her, making straight for the tunnel exit. She looked after them, calling, "What is happening?"

No response. The miners staggered around a curve in the tunnel and disappeared.

And then, striding from around the same bend in the tunnel, came another figure. Rail thin with pale skin and a tattooed face, Hawke's elven companion stormed down the tunnel with air of a battle-ready Qunari. Her hands were clenched tightly with thick green mist swirling up around her arms. Her eyes blazed with scarlet light that pulsed malevolently with every moment she approached. Stone and lightning whirled around her her in a typhoon of raw magical power.

_Hawke's friend?_ Leliana thought. _What is she doing?_

She swiveled to aim at the elf. Whatever was going on obviously involved this girl. "Stop! In the name of the Chantry and the-"

The girl simply waved her fingers and Leliana was lifted off her feet by invisible hands. She cried out as she was hoisted into the air and smashed against the tunnel wall. Her bow clattered from her hands as she crashed to the ground, her breath knocked from her lungs. Thankfully her armor absorbed most of the attack and she was left breathless and not otherwise injured.

The young Dalish stalked past, eyes fixed straight ahead as she followed the dwarves toward the exit. Leliana rose to her knees, clutching at her chest, then scrambled forward and grabbed her bow. She debated with herself whether to follow the elven woman or continue deeper into the caves.

_The elf is not my priority_, she finally decided. _Hawke is the target. I need to get to her. Anything else can come later._

So she grabbed her bow and sprinted down the tunnel, where she could still hear screams and crashing boulders. She rounded the corner and instantly had to cover her head as she emerged into a storm of falling rock and debris.

The cavern ahead of her was a wasteland. Whatever had occupied the cave was now surely buried under an ocean of rubble. Massive boulders, some twice Leliana's size, were strewn about the area, with even more still raining down from the air. The rest of the ceiling was holding up, but the entire floor was covered. No normal person could have survived such a collapse.

Thankfully, her target was no normal person.

Leliana cautiously stepped into the cavern, drawing her bow back to her chin in case there were any more surprises. She could hear her armored boots crunching on the stone beneath her feet as she stepped around human-sized boulders. She craned her neck up and called, "Hello? If anyone is still alive in here, call out to me!"

No answer.

She took another step forward. She couldn't risk calling out for Hawke directly and potentially alerting the mage as to her purpose here. So she decided to play it safe and adopt the _concerned citizen _role. "I heard the sounds of fighting as I passed by. Does anyone here need help?"

Still no answer.

She lowered her bow, releasing the tension in the string. If Hawke was dead, all her work had been for nothing, and she had no further reason to be here. It looked as if the fight in the cavern had brought the ceiling down; hundreds of tons of rock and lyrium trapping anyone unfortunate enough to be caught beneath. If Hawke and her remaining associates were still alive, they wouldn't be for long.

"Last chance!" she called. "If there's anyone alive here, let me know!"

More silence. Her eyes darted around, searching for any signs of life. Her senses strained, trying to pick out specific sounds or movements.

_What was that? Tapping?_

She took a cautious step closer, eyes darting over a thick bulge of rock protruding from the ground. It almost sounded as if someone was hitting something against the underside of the boulder. Sure enough, the largest boulder trembled and suddenly began to shift on its own.

She instantly sprinted over, hooking her bow over her shoulder and fitting her fingers into grooves on the rock's surface. She yanked back, straining as she fought with all her might to pull the stone away. The boulder slowly shifted, grinding against other rocks beneath it, then rolled away to the side. Beneath, Leliana found Hawke's human companion; the blond-haired mage, Anders.

He was bloody and bruised, his feathered pauldrons ruffled and his robes torn in at least seven different places. But he was alive, and it looked like he would stay that way for the foreseeable future. She quickly grabbed his hand, reassuring him that there was someone there while she worked to clear the rest of the rubble away from him. His face was a mess of bruises and cuts and his nose was bleeding profusely.

He fixed her with a bleary gaze as he clambered up out of the hole and coughed up a mouthful of dirt. "Who… who are you?"

"A friend," was all Leliana supplied. "Is anyone else with you?"

Anders nodded, breaking down into a painful-sounding fit of coughing. He pointed to his buried feet. "Varric… he's down there. I managed to shield him from the cave-in."

"With magic?"

Anders froze. "I don't know what you're…"

Leliana interrupted him. "I saw the flashes of light, heard explosions and the hiss of spells. I'm not a fool. You don't have to hide your abilities from me."

He still regarded her warily, but eventually said, "Fine. Yes, I shielded him with magic. He should still be all right, but I don't know how much air he still has down there. We need to get him out of there."

She nodded as she helped yank him up and fully out of the small crater they had created. He staggered free, holding his side and coughing again. Leliana quickly reached into the hole he left behind and grabbed a fistful of what felt like thick, rugged leather; Varric's jacket no doubt. She gritted her teeth as she maneuvered the deceptively heavy dwarf out of the rubble, dragging him to safety. His jacket was dirty, torn, and bloody, and he was still clutching desperately to his bulky crossbow, but he was alive as well.

Anders was resting his hands on his knees behind her. He wiped blood from his eyes, then reached out and made a scooping motion with one hand. Some distance behind them, a large bundle of man-sized rock chunks levitated into the air, drifted off to the left, then collapsed back to the cavern floor. Leliana heard a grunt and saw a gloved hand reach up out of the area left vacated by the floating rocks. A black-haired woman, cut and bruised like the others in too many places to count, hauled herself up out of the hole. She promptly collapsed onto her belly, face-down in the rocks.

"Varric?" the woman called, voice muffled against the stone.

The dwarf stirred and managed to grunt, "Yeah?"

"Your friend that owns this mine? Write him back. Tell him he can go fuck himself."

The dwarf threw her a shaky thumbs-up. "Sounds good. I'll get right on that."

Anders limped over and knelt at the dwarf's side. He spread his hands over the torn and bloody chest of his jacket and his palms began to glow with pulsing blue light. Varric groaned and fidgeted, but lay still. Leliana knew healing magic when she saw it and knew that he'd be fine, given time.

Hawke, meanwhile, had rolled onto her back and appeared to be dozing. Leliana cautiously walked over and knelt at her side. She hesitated, then put a hand on her shoulder.

"Are you all right?"

The woman opened one silver-hued eye, frowning at her. "Who exactly are you? It's pretty far underground for you to just be passing through."

"My name is Sister Nightingale." Leliana had a ready-made excuse for just that question. She cocked her head, feigning indifference, and said, "I am a Bard. A spy from Orlais, tasked with finding out what had stopped production of this mine. I heard the commotion and came to help."

It wasn't exactly a lie; just a very small sliver of truth. She had once been an Orlesian Bard – her accent would support that – and she was here to investigate the strange occurrences in the mine. But she didn't have to tell exactly what – or who – else she was tasked with investigating.

Hawke let out a weak chuckle and pointed to a twisted hunk of stone and gems lying only a few feet away. "That's what stopped the miners. A big demon called Greed. I think it's safe to assume it's dead after Merrill…"

Her eyes suddenly widened. "Merrill! Where did she go? What happened to her?"

She tried to rise, but Leliana pushed her back down. "Easy. Merrill is your Dalish friend, no?"

Hawke nodded, grimacing and holding a hand to her side. Her hands came away sticky with blood.

"I spotted her leaving the caverns," Leliana reported, "just behind several of the miners who manage to escape the cave-in. She seemed… greatly angered by something."

"Speaking of which," Varric groaned, managing to struggle to a seated position, "anyone wanna tell me why Daisy decided to bring the whole damn cave down on top of our heads, then conveniently scamper off?"

Hawke shook her head. "I don't know. Merrill just wouldn't do anything like that."

"Is it possible," Leliana said slowly, "that the latent magic in this place drove her mad?"

"Not her," Hawke said. "She has more experience with this kind of thing than any of us."

"That could make her particularly vulnerable," Anders pointed out. "Maybe she didn't want Greed getting out again. So she decided to trap it by any means necessary."

Hawke stiffly rose to her feet, helped by Leliana's careful hands. She fixed Anders with a glare. "You seriously expect me to believe that the same woman who wanted to decorate your clinic with flowers and portraits of your cats would willingly leave us to die in this godforsaken hole?"

Anders fidgeted. "Well when you put it like that, of course it sounds stupid."

"That's because it is stupid, Blondie," Varric said, grabbing his crossbow and rising to his feet. He slowly stretched, and Leliana could hear the bones along his spine crackle and pop in response. "You know as well as we do that Daisy would never do something like this willingly."

"Maybe not willingly," Leliana said. "But if demons were involved…"

Hawke instantly shook her head. "No. I'm not willing to accept that. Let's just find her so we can straighten this whole thing out."

"I agree," Varric said. "But she's got a hell of a head-start on us. Do you think we can find her before she does something else as stupid as this?"

Hawke shrugged, kneeling next to the hole she had used as shelter. She rummaged around in the aperture, then pulled her battered staff from the debris. "I don't know. But it's not like there's all that much out here. The only place she could have gone is back to Kirkwall."

Hawke now fixed Leliana with a suspicious stare. "And what about you? Where do you fit into all of this?"

"I don't know," Leliana replied. "What do you think?"

"You already know we're apostates," Hawke said, gesturing to Anders and herself. "Do you plan to run straight to the Chantry?"

"No."

"The Templars, maybe?"

"No."

"Not going to try and rob us on our way back? Dump our bodies out in a ditch somewhere?"

_By the Maker, this woman is paranoid._ "No!"

"I doubt she's a Qunari, a Tevinter assassin, or a Darkspawn infiltrator either, Hawke," Varric pointed out. "She says she's an Orlesian spy, that's good enough for me. None of us have any beef with Orlais."

"Then will you help us?" Hawke finally said. "As you could probably tell, we're down one teammate, and we're not exactly in top shape. We could use any assistance we can find."

Leliana barely hesitated; this was exactly what she needed. "Very well. I am not unskilled in the arts of tracking and pursuit. I will help you find your friend."

Hawke stared at her for a few moments more, then nodded. "All right then, Sister Nightingale. Welcome to the team."

She held out her bloodied and bruised hand. Leliana stared at it for a few moments, then reached out and shook it with a terse nod.

"It is my pleasure."

* * *

**Kirkwall (Present)**

Varric sat back in the uncomfortable stone seat, folding his hands over his belt buckle. "Oh, if we had only known how much you were screwing us over, Songbird. Hawke's reaction would have been downright hilarious."

"No doubt," Leliana said. "But the deception was necessary. Would you have ever accepted my help otherwise?"

"No."

Cassandra rubbed the bridge of her nose with an armored hand. "I'm still curious as to why Merrill brought the ceiling down on your group. If she was truly possessed by this Validation demon, would the demon not be safer pretending nothing was wrong?"

Varric shrugged. "Use your imagination, Seeker. Maybe Vali didn't have time to sift through all of Merrill's memories. Maybe Merrill was fighting her from the inside. Maybe none of that. Maybe all of it. This Fade shit is weird that way, and Hawke and I weren't in a position to see the big picture."

"I believe," Leliana said, rubbing her chin, "that perhaps Validation felt threatened in the presence of two other powerful mages; it is possible Hawke or Anders would have sensed the change in Merrill's behavior. In such a case, killing the witnesses would be far more effective than attempting to cover up an obvious lie."

"That almost sounds like it comes from prior experience," Varric chuckled.

"No disguise is foolproof, Varric. Eventually, the disguised are always revealed."

"Well that _definitely_ comes from prior experience," the dwarf said with a grin.

Leliana pursed her lips. "_Touché."_

Cassandra folded her arms across her chest, tapping one foot impatiently. "Can we return to the matter at hand, please? What happened next?"

"What happened next," Varric said, "is that Validation took her new body to the only place she could now go for help. And somewhere, very far away, our intrepid little Dalish found herself in a very strange situation…"

* * *

**Brecilian Forest (Many years ago…)**

"Merrill! Merrill, wake up!"

Merrill shifted with a groan, pulling the cover of her bedroll tighter around her shoulders. "Not now, _lethallin_. There's still an hour before it's time to-"

The covers were sharply yanked away, their absence followed by a playful giggle. Merrill flailed at the sudden waft of cold air that covered her, curling up and letting out a cry of, "_Fenedhis!_ Mahariel!"

The hunter hopped back, wrapping herself up in Merrill's blanket with a grin. "Come _on_, Merrill. It's _snowing_! The first snows of the season! You have to come see!"

The young elven mage grudgingly climbed out of her bedroll, holding out her hand for the blanket. "All right. But give me the blanket back."

Her friend stuck her tongue out. "Make me."

"Lyna Mahariel! Is that any way to treat the First of your clan?"

"Are you kidding?" the hunter replied with a laugh. "That's the _only_ way to treat the First! Otherwise she'll get all withered and grumpy like the Keeper!"

Lyna Mahariel was the clan's best hunter; her skills no doubt explaining how she managed to sneak up on the normally light-sleeping Merrill. The woman was short and wiry, yet deceptively strong and _very _fast. Like Merrill, she kept her black hair short, pulled behind her ears so as to free her vision during a hunt. Her tanned face was decorated with the dark swoops and sharp designs of her _vallaslin_, dedicated to the June the craftmaster, the god under whose sign she had been born.

She was already wearing her hunting armor, a set of traditional scout mail, gloves, and sandals that had belonged to her father. Her bow and quiver were slung over one shoulder and she had her twin _dar'misu _daggers sheathed on her belt. For all the armaments she carried, however, she was positively bouncing with excitement, her deep blue eyes sparkling.

"Come on, Merrill!" she cried again. "Or do I need to motivate you more?"

"If you're going to do what I think-"

Sure enough, Mahariel suddenly pulled a snowball from behind her back and threw it before Merrill could react. The icy projectile hit the young mage full in the face, making her squeal in surprise. Mahariel cackled and ducked out of the aravel, calling over her shoulder, "Catch me if you can! Last one to the river is Fen'Harel's chew-toy!"

Merrill was never one to flee from such a direct challenge. She charged through the flap of the aravel and out into the snow, her calloused elven feet paying little heed to the frigid weather. She sprinted after Mahariel's laughing form, determined to retrieve her blanket and make her friend regret taking it.

They raced together through the trees, pine branches whipping past as they went. But try as she might, Merrill couldn't catch up to her raven-haired friend. Mahariel just pulled further and further ahead of her, until she was little more than a speck amidst the trees.

Merrill slowed to a halt, gasping in a lungful of frigid winter air. She rested her hands on her knees, waiting to catch her breath. Creators, but Lyna was fast! She straightened, limping forward a bit to lean against a tree while she clutched at a stitch in her side. But before she set off once more, her sharp elf ears picked up on something.

The entire forest was silent.

She frowned and straightened. That was wrong. There were always ambient noises in the woods; creaking trees, cooing birds, howling wolves…

She narrowed her eyes and slowly stepped forward. The sun had passed behind a thick, dark cloud, and the forest floor was thrown into shadow. She reached out to touch one of the trees and felt rough, prickly bark under her fingertips. Yet it was cold to the touch, as if all the warmth had been sucked out of it. Far too cold, even if it was the first snows of the season.

She backed up, wringing her hands. What was wrong? Was the forest sick? The Keeper should probably be informed of-

She turned, only to find herself face-to-face with a tall, shadowy figure standing just behind her. She screamed in fear and surprise and fell back, scrambling away toward the safety of the too-cold tree. The shadowy figure stepped toward her, tendrils of darkness seeming to reach for her as it approached.

_"Do not try to run_."

It was not a voice. Not really. The forest was as deathly silent as ever, and Merrill could hear the sinister growl in her mind more than in her ears. She winced and scrambled behind the tree, peeking out to watch the dark figure as it strode toward her.

_"This place_," it said, gesturing to the dark forest with a shifting, undulating hand, "_is your new home. You will remain here and you will forget all you knew of the world beyond."_

Merrill recognized that sinister voice; her face instantly pulled down in a furious scowl. "Vali! You _tricked _me!"

A sinister chuckle. "_Such is the nature of my existence, little one. I have deceived many far more cunning than you."_

Merrill balled her hand into a tiny fist, shrinking around the trunk as Vali tried to circle it to bring them closer. "This… this isn't Ferelden, is it? It's been the Beyond all along."

_"You learn quickly_," Vali said. "_But it will not save you."_

"It's all a lie!"

_"Is it not to your liking? It can be different, if you wish."_

In an instant the forest disappeared, replaced by the winding cobblestone streets of Lowtown. But this Lowtown was a sickly green and filled with vile-looking mist. Dark, humanoid shapes and frightening-looking shades prowled about the streets instead of the usual humans, elves, and dwarves.

_'I can be different if you wish_," Vali continued. There was a puff of dark smoke, and the shadowy figure was suddenly formed into the frail-looking Keeper Marethari.

"Does this form please you, _da'len_?"

Merrill backed away, out from the cover of her tree that was now transformed into a pillar of stone, still as cold as ice. She pointed a finger at Vali's shapeshifting figure.

"Stop that. Stop that right now."

Another puff of smoke and Vali was now Hawke, leaning lazily on her staff and speaking in her soft Ferelden drawl. "What about this, Merrill? Would it make you more comfortable? Or perhaps a flower in your hair would be better?"

Merrill reached up to find there was indeed a flower in her hair, just where Hawke had put it earlier. She recoiled and threw it away, knowing it was only an illusion. She squeezed her eyes shut, putting her hands over her ears. "Go _away_!"

Suddenly, she felt a soft hand on her shoulder. She looked up to see that the forest was back once again, the dawn light just beginning to glisten on the freshly fallen snow as birds chirped and called overhead. Lyna was standing in front of her, a concerned look on her face and the blanket clutched in one hand.

"Merrill?" the hunter said. "Are you all right? Did something happen?"

Merrill quickly shook her head, taking a few steps back. "No. No, this isn't right."

Mahariel grinned. "I know. We should probably be hunting or something, but _come on_. How often do you get to see the snows like this? Untouched by anyone around!"

"No, this is all a trick," Merrill hissed, lighting a Fireball spell in each hand. Mahariel's gaze snapped to her, regarding her warily.

"Careful with that, Merrill," she said. "Remember how much trouble you got into last time when Marethari caught you using magic unsupervised?"

Merrill backed up, gasping, "Stay away, Vali. Don't make me-"

"Vali?" Mahariel asked, cocking her head. "Who is that?"

"You can't fool me again!"

"I'm not trying to-"

Merrill didn't wait for her to finish speaking. She unleashed both Fireball spells at once, hitting Mahariel full in the chest. For a moment, Lyna's face was frozen in a mask of shock.

Then the forest instantly melted away, replaced by an endless landscape of sharp gray gravel. The skies roiled far above her, turning a sickly greenish-black. The trees turned into pillars of jagged stone and the snow was washed away by an ocean of dark water. Within moments, she was no longer standing in the forest but on the lake of a vast black sea. Huge pillars of stone floated above her head, suspended in the air as if by invisible tethers. The sun was a great burning green orb in the sky, and everywhere Merrill looked she could see only fire and green-black stone.

The Fade. The world of demons and spirits that housed the ghosts of the fallen – and the possessed. Merrill shuddered as she continued to stare at Mahariel's shocked expression, now framed by glowing green light. The hunter then burst into a cloud of smoke once again and the shadowy figure stepped out of it once more. Vali strode toward Merrill with purpose, and now there was nowhere to go. She shrank back against a rocky outcropping, hugging herself as Vali approached.

_"Now you will listen to me_," the demon hissed. "_Your body, your world, everything you knew before belongs to me. Do not try to resist or I will take your mind as well. This place is where you will dwell for the rest of eternity, until only the shattered husk of your former self remains."_

A shadowy hand reached down and snatched Merrill by the throat, hauling her into the air. "_Too long have I been imprisoned within the Fade, unable to show the world my power. Too long have I labored in the shadow of other spirits, never being shown the respect I deserve. I will show those of your world just how deserving of praise and devotion I can be. I will take what is owed to me and any who stand in my way will perish. Even you."_

She threw Merrill into the dust and gravel, then turned away. "_Farewell, Merrill. We will not meet again."_

Merrill scrambled to her feet, desperate to do something before she was trapped in this horrible place. But Vali disappeared in a puff of midnight-black smoke, leaving her alone with only the lapping waves of the black sea.

Her arms fell limp to her sides, her heart sinking in defeat. The only thing she could hear now was the quiet lapping of the water and the distant rumble of thunder.

She didn't know what to do; none of her studies into the Beyond and its inhabitants could have prepared her for this. She stared around at the bleak landscape, backing up until her back hit the cold rock face behind her.

Then she slid down, hugged her knees, and began to cry.


	11. Abomination

**Kirkwall Docks (Past)**

Isabela was never one to shirk her duties aboard a ship, even if she was only a passenger. The opportunity to spend more time out on the deck, whether at sea or in port, was just too tempting to pass up. So when the ship slid into port the night before, she had decided to stay and help the crew unload the cargo. Most of the other passengers, including the stoic and unfriendly Orlesian she'd spoken with before, had jumped ship at the earliest opportunity.

But Isabela cherished every moment she spent on the deck of the ridiculously-named _Kirkwall Queen. _The sea air was salty and cold, the waves crashed against the high walls of the docks, and the mast and rigging creaked and groaned high overhead, complimented by the shouting, laughing, and cursing of the crew.

_Reminds me of the old gang_, she thought as she hefted a box of dried and salted fish into her arms. _It's not like _Siren's Call _was the best ship out there, but it was _mine_. And that crew… they were my boys._

She sighed as she stacked the box with the others. Not a day went by that she didn't miss her old ship and crew. The call of gulls over her head and the spray of the sea on her brow… it was a sensation she would never forget, and one she would do anything to feel again. Even if it was just a short trip to Starkhaven for re-arming and information supply over the weekend.

To be honest, she couldn't complain about life in Kirkwall. They city was rife with danger and adventure, the people (usually) welcomed her with open arms rather than drawn blades, and the Hanged Man had good food, strong drink, and pleasurable company. Add that to Marian Hawke's proclivity for getting herself into exciting situations, and Isabela was about as entertained as a land-locked pirate could be.

She set down the crate of fish and headed back to the boarding ramp, passing a knot of sailors as she went. A few leered back at her, whistling or shouting at her, but the smarter among them took note of the daggers sheathed on her back and simply nodded respectfully. She threw a smile to the more respectful ones and ignored the rest. Men such as that needed to know their place with her, and needed to learn that she would brook no uncouth action against her.

Hawke would have loved living on the sea; endlessly searching for adventure, crossing blades with bounty hunters and other pirates alike, making coin with almost effortless ease. It was a world within a world for Isabela, and one that she knew very well. She didn't call herself the _Queen of the Eastern Seas_ for nothing, even if some claimed she was simply grandstanding.

_I wonder if I can convince Hawke to take a trip to Starkhaven,_ she found herself wondering. _It's not far, and there's plenty of open ocean between here and there. Not to mention the lack of passenger space would mean sharing bunks…_

A smile tugged at her lips. She couldn't lie and say she wasn't drawn to Hawke like a moth to a flame. She was reckless and dangerous, with a sharp mind and a clever tongue; all traits Isabela found irresistible. So far, Marian had proven surprisingly resilient to Isabela's wily, seductive charms, but there was still plenty of time and the piratess had always enjoyed a challenge. Not to mention Isabela had bedded several apostate mages in her time and knew they could be quite the daredevils between the sheets.

_Like that one fellow back at the Pearl_, she thought, swerving to avoid the ship's captain as he headed for his quarters. _What was his name? The Dragonfire Dancer? He could do that thing… light the bed on fire without actually burning anything…_

She grinned at the thought, hoisting a crate of spices into her arms. _I wonder if a pyromaniac like Hawke could do that… I wonder how hard I'd have to work to get her to try._

She was so busy entertaining herself with fantasies of a steamy sailing trip to Starkhaven that she didn't notice the tiny, green-clad figure that came barreling out of a side-alley on the docks, racing up the boarding ramp much to the chagrin of the crew. Only when it crashed headlong into her did she snap out of her daydreams. The crate of spices was knocked from her hands, bouncing off the ground before splashing into the pristine blue water beneath the ship.

Isabela staggered back a few steps, momentarily driven off-balance. She quickly recovered and looked down to find none other than Merrill sprawled on the deck, looking dazed.

"Kitten?" Isabela said incredulously, forgetting about the fallen spices. "What are you doing here? And what the hell happened to you?"

The diminutive elf was covered in dust, dirt, and blood, and her eyes were wide and afraid. She had an unnatural color to her, as if she was feeling ill, and her hands kept clenching and unclenching rapidly. Her entire body was quivering like she was primed to explode – and not in the fun kind of way. What had the girl in such a state, Isabela could only guess.

The piratess quickly stepped forward to help her friend back to her feet. Merrill grimaced and held a hand to her forehead. Then she seemed to suddenly realize where she was and she pushed away from Isabela, crying, "Let go of me!"

Isabela let the elf tear away from her grip, raising her hands placatingly. "It's all right, Kitten. It's me. Just your Aunt Issie. Everything okay?"

Merrill was breathing hard, staring around as if searching desperately for something. She clenched her hands and stamped one foot in the dirt as she began to pace back and forth. "Where _is_ he? He should _be_ here, shouldn't he?"

Isabela frowned. "You're starting to worry me, Kitten. What's going on?"

Merrill finally seemed to see Isabela for the first time. She frowned and cocked her head for a moment, as if she didn't recognize the white-clad piratess. Then she let out a gasp and the tension in her shoulders went limp. "Oh, thank the Maker I found you, Isabela! I'm lost, and I don't know where I am!"

Well, that certainly sounded familiar. Though Isabela had never heard the Dalish girl invoke the name of a human deity, whether it was in relief or otherwise.

_It's probably just nerves_, she thought. _Look at her; the poor girl's trembling like she just had a go with the Rose's best ribbon dancer._

"What happened to you?" she asked, putting her hands on Merrill's shoulders. "Are you all right?"

Merrill nodded rapidly, eyes wide as her head bobbed up and down. "I'm fine. Perfectly fine. Just… fell down on the way here."

"You look like you got beaten to a pulp by an ogre."

"I… fell down a lot."

Isabela narrowed her eyes, but relented. Merrill was quirky this way and sometimes it was easier to simply accept some things as fact than try and figure out what she was talking about or why. "So who are you looking for?"

"Well…" Merrill fidgeted. "I was looking for you. But now that I've found you, I'm looking for someone else."

"Okay… and who is that?"

"Hm? Oh. The _mean_ one."

Isabela waited for clarification, raising her eyebrows expectantly. But no clarification came. "That doesn't exactly narrow things down, Kitten. Which _mean one_?"

"The… the mean one. The one that's always mean to the girl. Oh, I mean… to _me_. He has white hair… glowing tattoos…"

"Fenris?" Isabela frowned deeper. "You're trying to tell me that _you_ want to talk to _Fenris_?"

Another emphatic nod. She twitched, as if stung by a bee, then straightened as if nothing had happened. Her hands were clenched into tiny fists at her side. "Now!"

"I'm not sure if you remember this at all, sweet thing, but you and Fenris don't exactly get along."

"I know. But I need to talk to him. Really, really bad."

Isabela rested her hands on her hips and shrugged. "Well, I guess you'll find him where we always find him: drinking himself silly in his mansion up in Hightown. Unless he's out with Hawke."

"He's not," Merrill said matter-of-factly. She suddenly started and said, "Oh! I mean Hawke's not here now. I mean, not in the city. Not that I would know! _Damn_…"

Merrill turned away and slapped herself hard before grinding the heel of her hand into her forehead. Her voice was a harsh mutter as she hissed, "Stupid, stupid!"

Isabela cocked her head. "Are you _sure _everything's okay with you, Kitten? You seem a little… twitchier than normal."

"I'm fine," the elf replied, suddenly as bright and chipper as ever. "Just… just late! Yes. Late to… talk to Fenris. Bye!"

With that, she scampered off down a side-alley and out of sight. Isabela watched her go, a frown creasing her features, then turned back with a shrug and continued to help offload the ship.

_Maybe she's got ants all up in her smallclothes again_, she thought. _I'll have to ask Hawke about it next time I see her_.

* * *

Validation barely made it around the corner before she collapsed against the wall of a building, hands clenched into fists and eyes blazing with scarlet light. This host was more difficult to control than she had thought. Maintaining the connection without releasing her power was draining, but it would grow easier in time.

She just needed to find something, some anchor to tether herself to this world. Fenris would more than do the job, but she wasn't sure she would last long enough to find him. She needed-

"_Oi_! Knife-ears! What'chu think yer doin' over there?"

The red light quickly blinked out as Validation turned to see who had shouted. It was one of the dock workers, a portly balding man with a knife strapped to his belt. He was scowling behind a bushy black beard as he advanced on her, pointing a finger at her chest.

"Thinkin' of stealin somefin'? You knife-eared blighters are always lookin' for trouble."

When Validation didn't answer, only kept her eyes on her feet, the man bent to look at her eye-to-eye and sneered, "What, you deaf? I said are you stealin' somethin'?"

No answer. The man's face drew down in a dangerous scowl. "You better answer me, knife-ear, or I may do somethin' I'll regret."

With a dull scrape, the dagger was drawn from its sheath, the bladed tip pressed against her chest. The man sneered again. "Hand over whatever's in your pockets, elf, and you can go on your way. Only fair that you give up your stolen possessions."

Validation twitched, feeling the hunger stir within her. The light began to glow from her eyes again and her hands began to swirl with pale green magic.

This man was not Fenris. He was not the source of the delicious contention within her host. But he was still here now. Perhaps his blood would slake her thirst for vengeance, at least until she could find the white-haired one who haunted Merrill's thoughts.

She looked up and finally met the man's eyes, watching his contempt melt into fear as he stared into twin pools of blazing fire. He quickly backed up, lowering the knife and stammering, "I-I don't know what you're doin', Knife-ear, b-but I don't want no part of it. Keep what's in your pockets and I-I'll go on my way."

"Too late for that," Validation hissed, advancing on the man. "Far too late for that."

She flicked her wrist and a pillar of dirt and stone erupted from the ground, stretching up into the air and sealing off the alley exit. The man's back bumped into it and he let out a whimper, clutching his dagger close to his chest. He sank to his knees before her; right where he belonged.

"P-please, miss," he said. "I-I didn't mean nothin' by it. Let me go and I won't trouble you no more. I promise."

Validation closed her eyes and sucked in a long breath, savoring the fear that was pouring off the man. It was sweet and bitter, fulfilling and fruitless both. She needed more, needed to feel it flood her system and anchor her to this world. She drew closer, her shadow stretching before her like an advancing wraith that smothered the man in darkness.

Yes… he was no Fenris. But he would do just fine.

The man's terrified screams were lost amid the chatter and bustle of the docks.

* * *

"Can we pick up the pace, you two?"

Hawke's query was met with a glare from Anders. "In case you hadn't noticed, Varric is hurt. I'm still trying to heal him."

Varric shook the feathery mage away. "I wish you'd save yourself the effort, Blondie. I'm doing better by the minute. I'll be good as new in a few hours."

"The only reason you're _doing better by the minute_," Anders replied, "is because I've been flooding your system with healing magic for the past half-hour."

"Oh."

Hawke sighed and continued at her normal brisk pace, though every fiber of her body told her to drop everything and sprint for the distant metropolis of Kirkwall. Whatever was happening with Merrill wasn't good, and she would never forgive herself if the young elf was hurt because no one was there to help her.

Sister Nightingale must have heard her because the redhead leaned closer and murmured, "Calm yourself. Those two are doing the best they can. There is no denying the urgency of our situation."

Hawke shook her head. "We should never have gone into those damned caves. It was a stupid mistake."

"You had no way of knowing what secrets that mine held. Such is the risk we adventurers take. As far as you knew, you may have been walking home carrying sacks of gold rather than chasing after a missing friend."

She snorted. "Been there, done that. And it was a far sight less taxing than this."

"If you would prefer," Sister Nightingale said with a small smile, "you could sit down on the side of the road and nap until you are in a better mood to face this crisis. I will keep watch for you."

Hawke grudgingly smiled. "You sound like my father."

"A smart man, I am sure," the sister said. "You cannot change the past, Marian. All you can do is look forward and have faith that you will be granted the strength to overcome future adversity. _The one who repents, who has faith, unshaken by the darkness of the world, shall know true peace_."

Hawke knew the Chant of Light when she heard it, and glanced over at the bard. "I was never really the religious type, Sister. I prefer to face my problems head-on. Then usually light them on fire."

Sister Nightingale smiled. "I am not so different. But is it so difficult to believe there is a higher power guiding our hands?"

"Is it?" Hawke replied. "I like to think that things like this happen because of our own stupidity. Mortal mistakes are easier to fix. Would you rather sit and pray while your friends and loved ones suffer? Or would you rather spare them from pain yourself?"

"I…" Sister Nightingale hesitated. "You have a point."

"Well that wasn't the reaction I was expecting."

"I must admit, there… have been times when my prayers have gone unanswered, and my worst fears were realized despite my faith." Sister Nightingale pursed her lips. "I have faced death, destruction, and heartbreak, lost friends and loved ones to cruelty and violence. And my faith in the Maker did not stop it."

She met Hawke's steel-grey gaze. "Perhaps that is why I decided to help you. To face my problems head-on."

Hawke smiled slightly. "Maybe you'll even end up setting something on fire as well before all this is over. It's more cathartic than you realize."

"Perhaps."

They walked on in silence for a time, listening to Varric and Anders bickering behind them. Then Hawke cleared her throat and said, "I have to say… I was surprised to see another Lothering survivor this far from Ferelden."

The bard looked as calm as ever, though the slight tightening of her jaw told Hawke that she hadn't expected the comment. Hawke frowned and said, "What? You didn't think I'd recognize one of the Chanters from my hometown? You served in the chantry in Lothering, did you not?"

Sister Nightingale hesitated, then grudgingly nodded. "I did. Long ago."

"The red hair is a dead giveaway. Your name was… Leliana? I remember my sister, Bethany, speaking fondly of you telling her stories about your time in Orlais."

The bard smiled at that. "Bethany was always an avid listener. She could even have become a Chanter herself had she the desire to do so. How is she?"

Hawke's stomach clenched. Even a year later, the memory of her little sister's death at the hands of a monstrous darkspawn ogre still haunted her. The way the creature battered her against the ground like a child with a play toy, the way Bethany's blood stained Mother's hands as her body grew still and pale…

She cleared her throat. "I'm afraid she didn't survive the Blight. She was killed, not long after we fled the village."

Leliana closed her eyes, a pained look crossing her face. "Maker… The world is lessened by her loss. I am so sorry to hear that."

Hawke nodded, scuffing the dirt with one boot. "Yeah. It's not exactly a fond memory."

"She was… like you? A mage?"

"Does that change anything?"

"Not a thing. Mages can be good people, Hawke. They are children of the Maker just as surely as I am. Rest assured, Bethany is at His side."

Hawke was far from a devout Andrastian, but she couldn't deny the words eased a fraction of the grief. The idea that Bethany was somewhere peaceful now, maybe even watching over her, was a very slight comfort. "Thank you, Sister Nightingale."

"Please, Marian. If you know my true name, you may as well use it. You may refer to me as Leliana, if you wish."

Hawke nodded again. "So… if you're still with the Chantry, why are you here?"

"I told you," Leliana said. "I am a bard, ordered to investigate the disappearance of the miners, just as you were. Is it so odd that I also wish to lend my skills to the service of the Maker?"

"No," Hawke quickly said. "I just… have never really had a Chantry member help me out before. And I've certainly never had one save my life."

"That makes two of us," Varric called from behind them.

"Three," Anders pitched in. "I thought I had better chances getting along with darkspawn."

Leliana laughed; a short, happy giggle that contradicted her usual somber tone. "Is that not what the Chant of Light teaches? _Though the lands suffer a thousand wrongs, The Maker yet notices the smallest of deeds._"

"I hardly think it's a compliment to call saving our lives _the smallest of deeds_," Varric muttered. "But then, it isn't like you had to slay a dragon to get to us."

They fell into silence for a time, each of them lost in their own thoughts and content to listen to the crunching of their boot steps on the gravel path. But Leliana knew she would have to speak her mind sooner or later, so she cleared her throat awkwardly and glanced at Marian out of the corner of her eye.

"Hawke… There is something you must know about your friend."

The apostate was silent, but the way her eyes narrowed showed that she knew what Leliana was about to say. She forged on ahead, however and continued, "There is a chance Merrill could be possessed."

No answer.

"It is the most reasonable explanation for why her behavior suddenly changed, and why she tried to kill you. The Veil was thin in that cavern; even I could feel it. It may be possible your friend fell prey to one of the spirits lurking within."

Still no answer.

Leliana grimaced, beginning to wish she had simply stayed silent. "If that is the case, then the only solution—"

"I know what you're going to say," Hawke interrupted. "And I would advise you to keep it to yourself. Merrill was only in that cave because of us. She didn't want to come in the first place. I won't let her come to further harm because of a situation I put her in. Is that understood?"

Leliana knew an ultimatum when she heard one. Hawke was speaking as plainly as she could; if she tried to harm Merrill in any way, Leliana would face the full force of Hawke's opposition. Now that Hawke had seen her face – and worse, identified her name and her history in Ferelden – she couldn't risk the apostate breaking their fragile alliance. Too much damage could be done.

Her options were simple: agree to Hawke's terms and find an alternate way to solve this crisis, or kill Hawke now and deal with Merrill at a later date. Neither sounded particularly appealing, but she knew that she wanted to forge through this with as little bloodshed as possible.

She was making a terrible gamble, but she had no other choice. She still needed to know more about Hawke and her associates before she decided whether to let them free or eliminate them. And like it or not, she was now caught up in this mess with Hawke's Dalish friend. She could not back out now.

"Am I understood?" Hawke pressed.

Leliana nodded. "Very well. I shall speak no more of… solutions. You cannot, however, remain blind to the truth that she may be possessed by a demon from that cavern."

"Much as I hate to admit it," Varric chipped in, "it does make sense. You said yourself that Merrill would never attack us. If it's not Merrill inside that body, it explains a lot."

Anders nodded, leaning on his staff as he walked. He had twisted his ankle in the cave-in, making their progress slower. "It is a constant threat with mages. When dealing with blood mages, possession is almost a certainty. It is only a matter of time."

Leliana watched Hawke's eyes flash, her jaw tighten, her fists clench. But the mage said nothing besides, "Let's find her first. The details can come later."

"Do you even know how to find her?" Anders asked. "If she's gone back to Kirkwall, we could spend years combing through that city and still not catch sight of her. I should know; I know that city's hiding spots better than anyone else."

"Then it's simple," Hawke replied. "We go for the one person who has eyes in every dark little corner. I just hope he's willing to meet with us."

Varric groaned. "Oh no. Please tell me you're joking. She's joking, right?"

Hawke just forged on ahead, a determined look on her scarred face as she marched toward the steadily-approaching metropolis of Kirkwall. Anders watched her go with a slight smile on his face, turning to Varric and saying, "I don't think she's joking."

Varric sighed, shoulders slumping. "Shit."


	12. Hello, Sloth

**The Fade**

Merrill wrung her hands as she wandered through a seemingly endless maze of razor-sharp rock and high stone walls. Thunder crackled overhead and a steady drizzle of cold rain fell from the sickly green clouds high above her. She could hear lightning sizzling and fires crackling from somewhere in the area, but she was far too afraid to see where the sounds were coming from. Every once in a while she would hear a nearby screech or a quiet skittering of something sharp against the stone, but every time she turned to look, whatever had made the noise was already long gone.

There was no question; the spirits knew she was there.

She sniffed, fighting back terrified tears. _Keeper Marethari never prepared me for this. I don't know what to do! Do I make camp and try to find a way out? Can I even make a camp here? Will something find me if I do?_

She wished Hawke was here. Hawke _always_ knew what to do! If she was here, she would put an arm around Merrill's shoulders, tell her everything would be fine, and forge a path through the demons until they found an exit.

But Hawke wasn't here. It was just her, trapped by her own ignorance and stupidity.

_I should never have listened to Vali_, she thought. _I knew, I _knew_ that talking with something from the Beyond could only end badly. Creators, why did I listen to her?_

Perhaps this was why Keeper Marethari had forced her out of the clan. Was it like all her other clanmates had said? Had it only been a matter of time before her own selfish desires caused her to fall prey to demons? Had it always been her fate to be ensnared by demonic tricks?

_Maybe it was always going to end this way_, she thought with a tearful sniff. _It's no wonder no one wanted to so much as eat with me back with the Clan. They were right; at any moment, I could have been transformed into an abomination. I just needed to wait for the right kind of demon._

She couldn't pretend to know what kind of demon Vali was, but it wasn't difficult to tell that she was very old and _very _powerful. Surprisingly, the thought was actually a slight comfort. _At least I wasn't possessed by something tiny and stupid like a rage demon. That would just be embarrassing._

She stared around at her surroundings, at the pillars of green-black crystal and the floating hunks of earth hovering high over her head, her gaze lingering on the distant angular towers and high walls of the Black City on the horizon.

_Oh who am I kidding?_ She thought, tears welling up in her eyes. _I have no one to blame but myself. I was stupid and naïve and childish, just like Anders and Fenris always said. I shouldn't have been allowed to roam free. Hawke should have just left me with the clan to be exiled into the Wilds. They were right. They were right about everything, and-_

She gasped as she heard a deep grumble from ahead. She instantly shrank behind a rock, eyes wide as she peeked over the lip to stare out at the path ahead. The sharp gravel road she was traveling along gave way to a wider area further on, with large pools of black water and crackling green flame dotting the landscape. There was no one in sight, yet she could hear a steady grumble on the air, like Hawke's uncle Gamlen when he snored.

_There's something there,_ she thought, quivering with fear. _Something _big_._

Her sharp elven eyes began to pick out details from the dark, and she quickly saw there _was_ something in the clearing beyond: a bear prowled around the edge of the water with slow, measured steps. But it wasn't like any bear she had seen before. It was a mottled brown-red, with large patches of matted fur pulled out to reveal pale and sickly-looking skin beneath. Growing from all areas of the bear's body were large, sharp quills, like Ferelden porcupines she had seen as a child. Its eyes were quick and red and seemed to glow in the gloom of the Beyond. Merrill watched as it let out another grumble, then settled down onto all fours, closed its eyes, and began to doze.

_A sloth demon_, she thought. _Dangerous, but not too motivated. Maybe I should talk to it? It might know where I am and how I can get out of here._

She quickly shot down the idea. _No, no. Stupid Merrill. Talking to demons is what got you into this mess in the first place! Now you want to talk to _more_?_

She settled down lower against the rock so the slumbering demon couldn't see her. She put her back against the surface and hugged her knees to her chest, thinking hard. "All right, Merrill," she whispered to herself. "What would Hawke do in a situation like this?"

That was simple. Hawke would kill the demon and keep marching on. She would probably make a silly joke like, _I had to kill it; the stench was too unBEARable to stand. _Varric would laugh, Isabela and Fenris would groan, Anders would blush because he would get caught staring at Hawke's behind, while Merrill would slyly shift her gaze just in time to avoid being caught staring as well…

She shook her head with a scowl. _Focus, Merrill._ She didn't know if she was powerful enough to take on this creature, and she didn't have the support of her friends to back her up. Chances were good that if she tried to take this creature on, she would be killed right away.

"Okay," she continued. "So if Hawke couldn't fight, she would try to outsmart it. Sneak around maybe?"

Hawke was certainly good at that. Years as a smuggler had left her with sharp instincts and a knack for stealthy movement. She could sometimes even manage to cast spells with no discharge, sending out silent bolts of spirit energy or leeching the mana from an enemy without them even knowing it. Merrill wasn't exactly a novice in this regard herself, as years of roaming and hunting the forests had imparted upon her much knowledge about how not to be seen. She had once snuck past a bear almost the same size as this one back in Ferelden, while it dozed outside a cave containing herbs she had desperately needed. Could she do it again?

But it still wasn't a sound plan; the demon was resting in almost the exact center of the boggy area beyond her sheltering boulder. Any attempt to sneak by would be foiled by the knee-high pools of water that dotted the clearing; the sloshing water would wake the demon and surely raise its ire. Her muscles still screamed from the battle in the caves and Vali's subsequent beating. She had no desire to fight this demon as well.

"Okay," she said again. "Then Hawke would try and reason with the thing. But what can I say? Hello, I'm Merrill and I was stupid enough to let a pride demon steal my body simply by telling me I wasn't as silly as I thought I was? That would never work."

"_Hmm… you could certainly try. I wouldn't… hold it against you."_

Merrill let out a strangled squeak of fear and scrambled away from the rock to find the bear demon standing right on top of it, staring at her with a quizzical tilt to its head. Merrill quickly backpedaled, reaching for her staff before realizing it wasn't there. She screwed her eyes shut, half-expecting to feel demonic teeth sinking into her neck in the next moment.

But the demon didn't attack. It simply ruffled its pelt and settled down onto its stomach on top of the wide boulder, folding its claw-studded paws over each other as it watched her with a quizzical glint in its scarlet eyes.

Merrill slowly opened her eyes once more, though she wisely kept her distance now. She lowered her hands to her sides and stammered out, "Y-you can talk?"

"_Of course_," the sloth demon said, its round ears twitching. It was the strangest sensation; the demon was speaking in real life, but also seemed to be talking in Merrill's mind as well. It was a disconcerting feeling, and one that made Merrill's head ache. "_How else did you think we of the Fade would communicate? Guttural grunts and inane screaming?"_

"Well…"

The demon narrowed is glowing red eyes. "_What are you doing here?"_

"Um…" Merrill fidgeted. Once again, her instincts were screaming at her to leave this demon alone, to simply walk the other way before she dug herself deeper into this pit she had made for herself. But she found herself saying, "I'm… lost. I'm trying to find my way…"

"_Out?_" the demon laughed. "_My dear, there is no way out of the Fade."_

With a groan, it settled down onto its paws and stared at her with glowing eyes. "_Let me guess… a demon took control of your body and now you're stranded here? It's more common than you might think, you know."_

"I-I just want through," she stammered. She didn't want to tell it how right it was. "I'm trying to get somewhere safe."

The demon chuckled again, then rested its head on its paws and closed its eyes. "_If you're in that big of a hurry_," it mumbled, "_I… might consider letting you pass. You are a scrawny morsel, after all, and not quite worth the effort of pursuing. Just don't tell Validation or… she'll probably have my hide_."

Merrill's hear skipped a beat. "Vali? You know her?"

The sloth demon opened one eye. "_Of course. This small section of the Fade is her domain."_

"Then how do I get out? If this part of the Beyond is her territory, how do I get out?"

The sloth demon let out a heavy sigh, snorting out, "_Well… there is one who might be able to assist you… but he is… some distance from here. It would be quite the journey and…. it is not a trip I wish to undertake."_

_I'll never make it on my own_, Merrill thought. _Too many demons and Creators-know-what lurking about._

Hawke was always making unlikely allies; Merrill herself wasn't exactly the mage's usual type. It had always worked for her in the past. Perhaps Merrill could use the same tactics to her advantage now. Like it or not, she needed this demon's help. She couldn't hope to survive the Fade without it.

_Don't do this, Merrill_, her instincts screamed. _You're making the same mistakes all over again! Be smarter than this! You know better than to trust demons! That's what got you into all this mess!_

But she had no other choice. This was a different matter than talking to strange voices emerging from glowing green clouds of torn Veil energy. Now she knew exactly what she was dealing with and exactly what she needed to do to potentially escape.

_Just like when I'm working with the mirror_, she thought. _No demons trying to possess me, just a simple, old-fashioned agreement to help one another._

What was it the humans said about desperate times?

She gritted her teeth and resigned herself to her decision. "What if I traded you something? In return for helping me?"

The demon opened one eye. "_Really? How intriguing. And… just what are you willing to offer?"_

"What do you need?"

The demon pondered over this. Eventually it sighed. "_Perhaps… it could do me well to go with you. Validation's domain isn't exactly… the safest place any longer. Perhaps it will be safer with… him."_

It groaned, then padded to its feet once more. It shook its spiny, mangy hide and licked its chops with a single lazy swipe of its tongue. "_Let's make a bargain, you and I. You will protect me… from the stronger demons that prowl these depths… and in return I will lead you to the one being in this place that could help you… get back home again."_

Every instinct in her body screamed for her to deny the demon's offer, to simply walk away and not look back. But she had no other choice. She needed to get out and this sloth demon was her only option. So she scowled and said, "All right. Then let's go."

The demon bowed its head and turned away, beginning to lumber away. "_Follow me, then. Stay close. The Fade holds many… hidden dangers. And now that you are here… Validation's minions are sure to have your scent."_

Merrill wrung her hands and thought, _Hawke, you had better be finding a way to reverse this on the outside._

Then she followed the demon, away into the thick green fog of the Beyond.

* * *

**Darktown, Kirkwall**

Hawke reached out and pounded her fist against the heavy wooden door. The resounding boom echoed through the filthy tunnel behind them. Leliana lifted her torch higher, shedding flickering orange light on the door, marked with the angular corners and sharp edges of the old Kirkwall insignia, painted jet-black on the weathered wood.

Varric shook his head. "Every time we come here, I keep wondering if it's our last bad decision."

"He wouldn't hurt us," Hawke said, pounding on the door again. "He knows better than to scare people like us away. Do you know how much coin we've gotten him lately?"

The dwarf snorted. "Still… Blondie had the right idea, sneaking out early on us."

"Anders has his own responsibilities at the clinic," Hawke patiently explained. "You know that he has priorities of his own."

"Uh-huh," Varric grunted. "Still wish I'd gone with him. If we're lucky, Old Moldy won't even want to see us."

Honestly, she hoped she was right. While this particular entity had never openly threatened her in the past, he was far too sinister for it to be out of the question. And she wasn't sure how he would react to her showing up uninvited on his doorstep. She'd been told very clearly that she was to visit on _his_ terms and his terms alone. Best case scenario, she would never be allowed back. Worst case… well, she didn't want to think about that.

But Merrill needed their help, and this was the only place Hawke could think to go that would help them find her.

She pounded on the door a third time, shouting, "Open up! It's Hawke and I need to talk to you!"

"Maybe he's closed over weekends," Varric suggested. "Best not to bother him when he obviously has no intention of talking."

She was about to turn back to the dwarf when she heard a heavy bolt slide open. She turned back to see the thick wooden doors scraping open, the dancing light of torches beyond the threshold illuminating the figure of a near-emaciated young boy clutching at a key the size of his head.

Hawke turned to the boy and knelt in front of him, bringing them both eye-to-eye. She mustered up a friendly smile and said, "I'm here to see him. Can we come in?"

The boy said nothing, clutching at the rusted key in his hands. He stared at his feet, letting out a fearful sniff.

"Can we enter?" Hawke repeated. "It's very important that I speak to your master."

There was a heavy thud behind the child, followed by the scraping of stone on sharp gravel. A deep rumble overpowered the child's fearful whimper as blue-white eyes and pulsing runes sprang to life from out of the darkness. The child quickly recoiled, shrinking away into the shadows as another figure lumbered forward into the light.

"Maker's breath," she heard Leliana gasp from behind her.

It was almost a whole head taller than Hawke, with a squat, blocky face and a heavily muscled body with cracked stone skin. Dwarven runes were etched on its surface, and it was hefting a heavy war hammer over its back. Each step it took rumbled the ground and sent puffs of dust up into the air.

Hawke felt a shiver run up her spine. Between wounds fresh from her battle with Greed and memories of fighting in the Deep Roads, she didn't particularly enjoy golems. But this was part of the deal; she'd gotten used to the idea long ago.

"Thaddeus," Hawke said, straightening to her full height once again.

"_The Master has given it permission to enter_," the golem said, its voice low and gravelly, like two stones being ground together. "_Provided it knows how displeased he is to have his inner sanctum disturbed without express invitation._"

"I understand that," Hawke said. "But he knows that I wouldn't break the rules without a very good reason."

The golem's face didn't move, its entire body standing as still as… well, as stone. Hawke held its glowing gaze until it finally scraped its head down in a nod. "_Very well. It will follow me to the Master. There it will plead its case and convince him why it should be allowed to return._"

It turned and lumbered away, down the long and twisting hall that led even deeper into the depths of Darktown. Hawke glanced back at her companions, then stepped after it.

The shadows of Darktown seemed to roil around them as they followed Thaddeus' hulking form through tight tunnels and over bridges stretching out over the sea. Hawke knew they were somewhere near the edge of the city but had never been able to pin down her exact location during her visits here. There may have been a misdirection hex placed on the area or it may have simply been too confusing to find, but she had given up long ago, instead placing her faith in the unfriendly golem to guide her to her destination.

After a few minutes, the air began to grow considerably warmer, until Hawke could feel beads of sweat break out along her forehead. A deep roar echoed toward them on a blast of heat, like an out of control wildfire in the forest. Instantly, the torches sputtered out to embers, leaving them in pitch darkness. Hawke grimaced against the heat wave, but pressed on, following the pale blue glow of Thaddeus' runes.

"Is this normal?" came the voice of a nervous-sounding Leliana.

"Yep," Varric replied. "It's meant to disguise our path, so that you can't miraculously retrace your steps. You arrive and leave on the gracious impulse of our host."

The area began to glow with a bright orange light from somewhere deep beneath them. There was another blast of heat and a roar that was definitely not simply fire. Leliana glanced down, clenching her hands into fists as if expecting a torrent of fire to come roaring up to engulf them.

"You know," Varric said with a knowing smirk, "city legends say Old Moldy got his hands on a dragon a long time ago. They say he keeps it locked up in here, away from prying eyes. It eats trespassers and keeps this place safe from the city guard and the Templars."

"I can believe it," Leliana grimaced. "What is that smell. Sulfur?"

"Adds to the whole _abandon all hope, ye who enter here_ theme. You have to love a man with a taste for the theatrical."

Hawke rolled her eyes. "I still can't believe you don't like this place, Varric. It seems right up your alley. Why don't you add it in to your next book?"

A snort from the dwarf. "Theatricality is great, but it can be taken a touch too far. I prefer enough drama to make a place exciting and entertaining, not downright creepy. Besides, if I put it in the book, I'm pretty sure our big stone friend here will come and crush my head in while I sleep."

"_It would be a pleasure_," Thaddeus grumbled from up ahead. "_I do so love the way its fragile body splats when put under pressure_."

Varric gestured to the golem. "My point is made."

Suddenly, a cluster of bright golden orbs raced through their air past them, dancing and twirling as they rocketed through the darkness. They sparked and flashed, twisting around each other before racing away down the tunnel and out of sight. Moments later, they were followed by more multi-colored orbs.

"What is that?" Leliana hissed, reaching for her bow.

"Easy," Hawke said, motioning for her to stand down. "Just follow my lead."

They began to hear more noises now; the groaning of tortured wood beams, the hiss of steam, the crackle of fire, and even the distant calls of creatures lurking in the shadows. Leliana spun as a very distinct voice whispered her name from behind them. Hawke and Varric, however, paid it no mind.

"Is this area haunted?" she asked, her voice beginning to show the first signs of fear.

"Some people think so. Some think the area was cursed by witches centuries ago. Others think it's all just a trick to get people excited."

Varric shivered. "It's probably best to err on the side of caution, though. I hate creepy supernatural shit like this."

"Maker," the Nightingale sighed, visibly forcing herself to relax. They could hear screams in the distance now, followed by heavy footsteps echoing toward them from different halls. Torches began to light their way once more, illuminating walls that were filled with cages. Inside the cages were all manner of beasts, from nugs and Mabari to dark brown, scaly fire drakes. There was even a heavy steel-barred cage with a restless-looking wyvern prowling back and forth, glaring at them with a furious yellow gaze.

Thaddeus pushed open another set of double doors, revealing a massive circular room lit by torches and magical lights alike. The floor was adorned with ornate, luxurious rugs and mats, and Hawke could see priceless pieces of art and sculpture tucked into any available space on the walls. Crates of Maker-knew-what were stacked along the edges of the room, around tables laden with treasure: weapons, armor, crowns, jewelry, and more. More of the glowing, sparking orbs twisted and danced around the room, climbing up high to the ceiling to shed light down on the assembled visitors.

Dominating the entire scene was a colossal wooden throne, draped with creeper vines and illuminated from below by glowing orange orbs that bathed the area in warm light. Steps lead up to the throne so that supplicants could offer tribute to the seated lord, whom Varric had not-so-affectionately nicknamed _Old Moldy_. Sprawled on the throne was a disgustingly emaciated, leathery mass of legs, arms, and heads; as if someone had stitched together several corpses into one, then left their monstrosity to mummify for a century. Draped over the creature was a patchwork black robe, and its many faces were obscured by a thick red book; they had obviously caught him during his reading time.

Thaddeus lumbered forward, then fell to one knee before the throne, bowing its stone head and booming, "_Master. I have brought the intruders_."

There was a low, warbling grumble from the fleshy mass on the throne, and the book shifted but did not move. Hawke saw Leliana jump when a twisted and slithery voice, oozing with malice, wheezed out from the twisted amalgamation of limbs.

"Very good, Thaddeus… you may leave…"

With a shower of dust, one of the multitude of skeletal arms rose up and pointed at Hawke with one bony finger. "Serah Hawke… I gave you _very_ clear instructions… you were not to approach my sanctum without _express permission_…"

The rest of the sentence trailed off into another deep wheeze, and the arm shook and fell limp against the amalgamation of limbs once again, too weak to support its own weight.

"I know," Hawke said with a grudging nod. "But I needed to see you."

"Suffering from a distinct lack of… high-value weaponry? A new helmet for your brother, perhaps? Need I remind you… Serah Hawke, that this is _not_… a simple merchant stand. And _I… _am not here to _cater_ to your… every whim…"

"I know," Hawke said again. "But I need something more than weapons or armor. Something I know you'll want to help me with."

"And just… _why_ is that?"

"Because," Hawke grimaced, "if you do this for me, I'll owe you a favor."

Silence from the malformed creature. Several of the hands twitched at once, as if the thing was thinking. Then it gestured with one tiny arm growing from its chest – if that was its chest – and barked, "_Urchin! _Close… the door…"

The small boy jumped to obey its master's command, scampering off to pull the heavy double-doors to the decadent room closed. Once done, he pulled a heavy steel bar down and locked them all in. Leliana watched the boy scurry back off into the shadows with narrowed eyes. As he disappeared from sight, she leaned closer to Varric and whispered, "What in Andraste's name is this place?"

But the creature on the throne heard her. It let out a dry, dead-sounding laugh and shifted, sending another shower of dust down onto the ground as it did.

"You stand before the greatest collection of rare antiquities… _oddities_… and treasures the world has ever seen," it hissed. "Here, kings find the power to rule over thousands… and peasants find the power to destroy mighty kings…"

It spread two too-long arms wide, gesturing to the room and all it contained.

"Welcome, my dear Leliana, to the Black Emporium."


	13. Old Moldy

**The Black Emporium**

"My _urchins_," Xenon hissed, "are not toys to be sent into the undercity… at _your_ discretion."

Hawke paced back and forth, resting her hands on her hips. "I'm not asking you to send anyone along a different path. I just want you to tell them to keep an eye out for my friend."

"I deal… in antiquities and rare goods. I am _not_… a _spymaster_," Xenon's thick, drawn-out drawl was positively dripping with venom. He was angered by this proposal, Hawke could tell. But he hadn't ordered Thaddeus to crush their skulls yet, so she figured he was at least entertaining the idea.

"I'm willing to pay you twice your usual fee," she pressed. "You know I have the coin now to afford it. It's a sizable profit to be made from next to no work. Do you have any other customers offering you such a deal?"

Varric folded his arms across his chest, waiting impatiently for a resolution. Leliana had wandered off, perusing the Emporium's wares. Hawke spotted her out of the corner of her eye, picking up an angular Tevinter shortbow and drawing the string back to the anchor point against her jaw; testing the weapon's weight, power, and tension. But was she observing the weapon in passing, or was she arming up to hurt Merrill? Hawke didn't know.

She had to find a way to help Merrill, before the Nightingale deemed the young woman a lost cause. Xenon _had_ to say yes. They had no other alternative.

"Hmm… If I were to do this…" the antiquarian hissed, "what benefit – besides coin – would I stand to gain?"

Hawke had prepared for this. She put on one of her devilishly charming smirks and said, "Apart from the personal appreciation and patronage of Kirkwall's newest – and most attractive – noblewoman? I do so love to brag to my friends."

"Fame… and patronage mean little to me. The Black Emporium… is above the need for such… _petty_ trifles… what else… do you offer?"

"My friends in the underground and smuggling businesses can serve as lookouts for you," she suggested. "I know the Templars must be just _dying_ to get their hands on all the magical items you sell to apostates or wealthy collectors. My friends could distract the Templars and get them off your trail."

"Hmm, tempting," Xenon murmured. "Very tempting. But if I could perhaps add to the… _arrangement_…"

"What do you want?"

One of the bony arms creaked up and pointed over Hawke's shoulder, to Varric. "That one… the short, hairy one… Master _Tethras, _is it?"

She heard Varric mutter, "Shit."

"That… that is a _marvelous _crossbow…" Xenon purred. "Such a fine weapon… would be grand addition to the Emporium's collection."

The dwarf instantly raised his hands. "No. No, _absolutely_ not. Much as I like your little shop of horrors, Old Moldy, you are not laying one finger on Bianca."

"Bianca? What a… _charming_ name."

"Yep. And she's staying with me."

Xenon let out a low groan, shifting his weight to a more comfortable position on his chair. The red book draped over his face still didn't move. "I would only ask for the weapon _after_ your death, of course. A tribute to your… accomplishments during life, if you will..."

"Can't you ask for something else?" Varric said. "Like an autographed copy of _Hard in Hightown_? One of my earrings, maybe? Hell, I'll even give you clippings of my chest hair!"

"Varric…" Hawke said. "Please? For Merrill?"

"No, Hawke, not the pouty-face—"

Hawke pulled a face at her dwarven friend, making a mock sad expression and folding her arms across her chest. "C'mon, Varric. It would only be after you've died. You wouldn't need her anymore."

"Hawke—"

"I promise if we both end up in hell, I'll get someone to make you a new one."

Hawke heard Leliana stifling a giggle behind one gloved hand as Varric's scowl grew deeper and deeper. But she held his gaze, pulling out her full-blown "puppy-dog" look, which she knew he couldn't resist. He tried to turn away, but Hawke leaned to the side, following him with that same dejected expression.

"Thaddeus…" Xenon murmured from his throne. "This might just be… the _strangest_ bargaining session I have ever seen…"

"_Does the Master wish me to crush its sad face in?_"

One of Xenon's skeletal hands raised into the air and motioned for the golem to stand down. "No, no… I want to _see_… if it actually _works_…"

"Varric," Hawke pressed. "If you were in Merrill's position, wouldn't you want us to do everything in our power to help you? Even if that meant sacrificing something we loved?"

"Oh_ my_… I think it's working…"

Varric finally threw his hands up in the air and snapped, "_Fine_! Take it! After I'm cold in the ground, the crossbow's all yours. But only _after_ I'm dead."

Xenon let out a raspy chuckle. "But of course. I am a _fair_ businessman… after all. Tell me, would it still count if I… sent assassins after you? To… speed that date along?"

"No!"

"But I would not… _technically_ be breaking my word…"

"No!" Varric sputtered. "No. Absolutely not. I'm going to live to a ripe old age and live off the coin from my books. And then, when I finally kick it at a century and change, _then_ you can take her. No sooner."

Xenon grumbled, dejected. "Very well…"

Varric scowled and stalked past, heading for a display of rare Merchant Caste mining contracts sitting on top of a shelf. He looked willing to do anything to get out of the spotlight before Xenon managed to coerce him out of more of his prized possessions. He pointed a finger at Hawke as he passed and growled, "You owe me big time for this."

"After we get our friend un-possessed," Hawke said, "I'll make it up to you. I promise."

"You'd better," Varric said. He slouched away, muttering to himself as he turned his back to both Hawke and Xenon. Hawke glanced at Leliana, who shook her head in amused exasperation before turning back to the bow collection.

Hawke stared at the closest of Xenon's many heads and rested her hands on her hips. "So? Is it a deal?"

The Antiquarian's mutilated body trembled and he let out a deep grumble. "Very well… I would shake your hand, but I'm afraid… it may fall off. Bones get so _brittle_… after a few centuries of wear…"

"I'll just settle for an oral contract, then," Hawke said. "So you'll send out your urchins?"

"At once. _Urchin!_"

The young boy seemed to melt from the shadows, staring at the ground with his trembling fingers clasped in front of him. One of Xenon's hands snatched the boy and shoved him in front of Hawke. "Tell the boy… who you wish to be found. My network of… _urchins_… will scour the streets for her and inform me if they… find any trace."

Hawke knelt in front of the terrified boy and murmured, "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you. I just need your help."

"Don't bother with that," Xenon snapped from beneath the heavy book over his face. "This one is… rather _dull_, I'm afraid… just tell him what you want… and be _done _with it."

Hawke sighed. "Okay. I'm looking for a young elven woman. A Dalish elf, with tattoos on her face. They look like this-" Hawke drew a rough representation of Merrill's _vallaslin_ in the dust on the floor between them "—and they aren't colored like other Dalish tattoos. She has black hair, cut short and tied up in braids. And she usually wears a green jerkin with chainmail and feathered pauldrons. Do you think you can find her?"

The boy nodded silently. Xenon instantly swatted him upside the back of his head and snarled, "Then what are you waiting for? Go and _find_ her!"

Hawke watched the boy scurry off into the darkness. She felt bad for the way the Antiquarian mistreated his urchins, but it wasn't her place to stand up to him in this matter; this was his domain, not hers. So she just turned back to the decrepit merchant and rested her hands on her hips.

"I'm also going to need anything you have on reversing demonic possession."

"Of course," Xenon purred, his earlier harsh tone now draped in sickly honeyed words. "Feel free to… _peruse_ the library to your right. I am sure there is… something there that may be of help."

"Thank you, Xenon."

The Antiquarian let out a sinister-sounding chuckle. "No, thank _you_ Serah Hawke. And you, Master Tethras."

Varric responded with a less-than-polite hand gesture that, thankfully, Xenon could not see.

* * *

It seemed like days before they finally found the book they were looking for. Hawke was more anxious with every wasted minute that passed; the more time they spent here, the more damage that demon could be doing to Merrill. Hawke couldn't allow that to happen.

But Xenon's library was vast, with tomes dating back as far as the Glory Age. They had to be careful handling some of the books, as the Antiquarian warned them that several could turn to dust at the slightest touch; and would be replaced at Hawke's personal expense if such an occurrence took place.

But finally, Leliana pulled a thick, black leather book from the shelf and thumbed through the pages, crying, "Hah! I knew we could find something."

She ran her finger over the title, etched in silver into the cover. "_Fadewalkers: Notes of a Long and Arduous Study of Daemons and Daemonic Possession _by Johla S. Klemisicus."

Varric snorted as he walked over to join them. "Certainly sounds old. Think it's got the info we're looking for?"

Leliana thumbed through the pages, pacing back and forth as she read. "Perhaps… Let's see what we have…"

The first part of the book was morbidly fascinating, but ultimately useless: an account from the Black Age of Tevinter mages purposefully giving "test subjects" over to demons for possession, then studying the effects. She skipped ahead to the actual descriptions of the possessions, hoping the Tevinter mages had been stupid enough to experiment with Pride demons.

It didn't take her long to find what she was looking for: the second half of the book detailed the manner in which different demons entrapped and consumed their prey. Some of the demons she was familiar with; a shiver ran down her spine at the memory of her encounter with a particularly powerful sloth demon back during the Blight. She quickly turned past that page, seeking the entry on more powerful demons.

"One thing seems to be similar," she murmured, responding to the impatient tapping of Hawke's boot on the wooden floor. "It takes time for a demon to completely control its host."

Hawke's foot stopped tapping, a single eyebrow quirking up. "Oh? So there may be a chance to put Merrill back to normal?"

"Perhaps." Leliana read faster, skimming past the dry and overly technical descriptions of magical theory and observational processes. "According to this record, there are several stages a demon must pass through in order to achieve a perfect parasitic relationship with its host."

"Well don't keep us in suspense, Songbird," Varric said. "What's going on in Daisy's head?"

"First," Leliana read, "the demon must achieve permission to infest a person. They can't forcefully take a body to live in; it must be willingly given. So the demon often finds something to trade. Power, wealth, supernatural abilities…"

"I wonder what it promised Merrill to get her to agree," Hawke said, rubbing at the curved scar stretching across her chin. "She knew better than to parley with demons. It must have been something irresistible."

"It likely seemed that way," Leliana said, "but there is nothing in here that says the demon must actually keep its word. At least not right away. It can go years or even decades as an abomination before it finally grants the host its wish."

"Creepy," Varric said, "but we're obviously past that stage. What's next?"

"From there, the demon move to one of two stages," she continued. "Infestation or Oppression. If it chooses to infest, its spirit jumps from a living host to a non-living one: a corpse, a statue, or even something simple like a chair or a mug. It then uses that object as a center from which to stretch its power, often causing supernatural occurrences. Accounts of haunted houses are almost always caused by infestation."

"The fact that Merrill is still missing means it's probably the other stage, then," Hawke sighed. "Apparently it liked the inside of Merrill's head too much to leave. What happens if it chooses Oppression?"

Leliana bit her lip as she continued reading, thumbing past diagrams of magically active areas of the body that were easier for demons to infest. Then there was a chart showing the test subjects' average resistance times before they submitted to the demon's suggestions…

"All right…" she said, "it looks like if a demon chooses to oppress someone, it is a much more in-depth and draining process that ultimately leads to possession. When a demon is oppressing someone, they are still in control of their own bodies and can think for themselves; the demon is merely influencing their thoughts, nudging them in one direction or another."

Hawke frowned, folding her arms. "That doesn't make sense. If Merrill was oppressed by this demon, why did she bring the cave ceiling down on us? Even if a demon was _nudging_ her, she wouldn't have done something like that."

"I agree that it doesn't make much sense," Leliana agreed. "But it says that demons often find ways to circumvent this stage. Perhaps it merely took her by force?"

"Unlikely," Hawke said, stepping closer to read over her shoulder. "Does it say anything about full mind control? Blood mages are known to have such powers."

"Unless you saw Merrill slit her palms open and start reading incantations, I'm not sure that is the case."

"But what would happen if a blood mage turned such magic on herself? Would she even know?"

"I'm not sure I'm the one to ask about the intricacies of maleficarum," Leliana replied. She looked at Hawke with a frown. "Why are you so fixated on the idea of blood magic?"

Hawke quickly looked back at the book. "It was just a suggestion."

Leliana stared at her a few moments more. She could easily tell when someone was lying. After so many years playing the Grand Game of Orlais, it had become as easy as breathing for her. But Hawke didn't carry the trademark palm scars of a seasoned blood mage, so obviously wasn't one herself. No, there was something else she was hiding, but it could wait. For now.

Varric, meanwhile, had a curious look on his wide face. He rubbed at the stubble on his chin, and opened his mouth. He closed it, seemed to debate with himself, then slowly said, "Well… what if she's just asleep?"

Hawke glanced over at him. "What?"

"Well, the title of that book jogged something in my brain," he said. "_Fadewalkers_. I remembered that when we were kids, Bartrand used to sleepwalk. He would get up in the middle of the night, wander around the house, and terrify the hired help. He would even carry out conversations with himself. He acted completely normal, but he was asleep the whole time."

"I'm not sure—"

"Think about it," the dwarf pressed. "All this creepy demon shit comes from the Fade, right? And according to the Chantry, the Fade is where we go when we dream. What if, to bypass this first stage, the demon just put Merrill to sleep? It's in her brain, so it probably could do that."

He shrugged, hooking his thumbs into his belt. "With Merrill off counting sheep in the Black City, the demon would have the run of the place. It could keep her asleep as long as it wanted and control her movements without her even knowing about it."

Leliana tapped her chin. "It certainly sounds devious. A demon could theoretically influence the host's consciousness, even when it first inhabits the body. If it is a particularly powerful demon, it would be child's play for such a creature."

Hawke sighed, a scowl darkened her scarred face. "All right, so we're dealing with a powerful demon. It's Greed all over again."

"I think even worse," Varric said. "Remember how easily Merrill tore his stony ass apart? She didn't even break a sweat."

"I was trying to be optimistic."

"That's unexpected."

"There's a first time for everything, I guess."

Leliana continued reading. "After the demon creates a stable base of oppression, it moves on to the Obsession stage: fixating on particularly virulent or powerful thoughts in the hosts' brain. These obsessions become the demon's obsessions, to a point. So someone with strong but suppressed…. ah, _desires_, would have these behaviors expressed even stronger when under the influence of a demon."

"Songbird," Varric smirked, "is that a blush I see?"

"The book is very specific about the particular _desires_ of the test subjects," Leliana said, her cheeks burning. She was no prude, but the details were as graphic as the raunchiest Orlesian erotica. "Can we move on?"

"Please," Hawke said, unsmiling. She was completely focused on Leliana and the book. "So if Merrill is in the oppression stage now, where could she go?"

"Back to her clan?" Varric supplied. "She doesn't really hide that she wants to go back there."

"I don't think so," Hawke said. "The demon obviously has to get something out of these obsessive thoughts too. What would the demon stand to gain by going _back_ to Sundermount? I think it would have spent enough time there already."

"Good point."

Leliana scanned through more of the slanted, angular Tevinter words. "Does Merrill have any close friends besides you? It says here that demons often reach out to friends or loved ones, manipulating them to further achieve their goals."

"No one that I can…" Hawke's eyes flashed. "Wait! Isabela!"

Varric nodded, looking similarly excited. He clapped his gloved hands. "Didn't Daisy say she was back in town?"

"Wait, who is this Isabela?"

"A friend of ours," Varric explained. "She's like a sister to Merrill. Or… maybe a doting, possessive aunt who drinks too much and can't keep her pants on."

"Sounds like a charming individual," Leliana said, rolling her eyes. "And she's in Kirkwall now?"

"If she is," Hawke said, "I know exactly where we'll find her. Come on!"

"Wait," Leliana said before the two could charge off after their friend. There was still more the book could reveal to them. "You'll want to hear about the final stage."

"I'm pretty sure I won't," Hawke replied with a sigh. "But hey, what's a few more nightmares to add to the collection?"

"Possession," Leliana said, cradling the book in her hands. "The final stage, when the demon takes full control of the host. The demon has complete power over everything the host can do: their skills, memories, even their magical talents. And when that power is added to the demon's own…"

Varric scowled. "She could become more powerful than any of us."

"At this point, the host becomes a full abomination. They undergo massive physical and mental transformations, turning into little more than beasts controlled by the whims of the demon. Templar intervention is often the only alternative, as the demon will not release the host body for any reason."

She grimaced. "And the only known cure at this stage is death, sending the demon back to the Fade but destroying the host in the process."

"Then it's even more important that we don't let it get that far," Hawke said. "We need to track down Isabela and figure out where the hell Merrill is. The sooner we have Merrill back in the group – possessed or not – the sooner we can get this whole mess sorted out."

She glanced to Leliana. "Is there anything in there about reversing demonic possession?"

Leliana pondered over this, then shook her head. She scowled and closed the book. "Apparently, Ser Klemisicus was only concerned with how people became possessed in the first place, not how to reverse the process."

Varric shook his head. "First sign of a piss-poor author: he never writes a sequel when there's more story to tell."

"Then it seems this Isabela is our only lead," Leliana said, setting it back on the shelf. "Where did you say we could find her?"

Hawke looked to her dwarven friend. "After a long sea voyage with no one to keep her entertained?"

"The Blooming Rose?"

Hawke nodded. "The Blooming Rose."


	14. Flashbacks

**The Fade**

Merrill wiped sweat from her brow as the last phantom erupted into wisps of greenish fog, torn apart by a particularly powerful spirit bolt unleashed from her palms. The rocks around her were littered with the bodies of walking corpses, rage demons, and all manner of Fade creatures. The scent of burned flesh and the sharp tang of electrical discharge lay heavy in the humid air, making Merrill's stomach churn.

They had been ambushed when they turned a corner some five minutes before, stumbling into a tight knot of demons prowling this stretch of the Beyond. Merrill had tried to outmaneuver them, but the ravine in which they were traveling was too narrow for her to move fully. So she had been forced to take shelter behind a rocky outcropping and pick off her attackers one by one, all while the sloth demon had lazily settled down on a warm, flat rock and dozed off.

Now that the fighting was over, it pricked up its rounded ears and let out a tremendous yawn. It lumbered to its paws once again and padded over to her.

"_Well_," it said, "_I'm glad that's over. It was such a dreadful bore watching you duck behind that rock time and again_."

Merrill scowled as she brushed dust from her hands. "You could have helped, you know. You look powerful enough."

The demon cocked its head, its nose twitching. "_That wasn't part of our arrangement, my dear. I agreed to lead you to my friend. I said nothing about fighting. Besides… you had it all in hand, didn't you?"_

Merrill sighed and, for what felt like the millionth time, cursed her stupidity in getting caught up in all of this. If only she hadn't agreed to go with Hawke to Sundermount. If only she had stayed home and kept working on the mirror…

But the sloth demon was already waddling ahead, stepping gingerly over the splayed bodies of its former compatriots. "_Come, little mortal. We don't have much farther to go. We should be there any minute now."_

"Who is this friend of yours, again?" Merrill asked, jogging after the bear-shaped demon. "You never told me its name."

"_His name_," the demon corrected her. "_And that is because I do not know it. He has had many names over the centuries, and will have many more names before long. I grew bored of keeping track long ago."_

"And you're sure he'll help us?"

"_It is impossible to be sure of anything in the Fade_," the demon rumbled, sniffing at the still corpse of a wraith. "_Hmm… as I suspected. These are Validation's minions. She is still pursuing you."_

"Is Vali still here?" she asked as they passed away from the battlefield. Her heart began to pound faster at the thought of the demon still pursuing her. "I thought she had jumped into my body."

"_She is still here_," the demon assured her. "_And still pursuing you. But I will let the others explain. They will be able to tell you better than I."_

"And you're sure this friend of yours will be willing to help?" she asked again. She had asked this at least three times already, but she couldn't quite believe anything in the Beyond was going to actually help her. At times, she still was sure the sloth demon was leading her into a trap.

The demon snorted, scratching at its face with one malformed paw. "_He is not the friendliest of spirits. But I believe he will help. If you can make… a _compelling _argument in your favor_."

Merrill sighed, running a hand through her messy, sweaty hair. She wasn't good at making a compelling _anything_. Creators, she still couldn't convince that fruit merchant at the markets that her _vallaslin _wasn't some kind of secret Coterie tattoo. But maybe if she just blubbered enough, the spirit would take pity on her and-

Her own conscience butted in. _Stop that, Merrill. Whining and complaining isn't going to fix anything. Do Hawke or Varric start crying every time something doesn't go their way? Would Isabela give up and start begging for mercy at the first sign of problems?_

She took a deep breath to calm herself and glanced over her shoulder, careful to make sure nothing was following them. She had caught several glimpses of someone trailing her during her journey, darting behind rocks or into deep shadows every time she saw it. At first, Merrill had thought it was a demon. But the longer they traveled, the less likely that seemed; if it was a demon, it would have attacked her by now.

Perhaps it was a more benevolent spirit? A spirit of Wisdom or Peace, too afraid to approach her? If it was, she could probably use its help. She didn't like the idea of trusting her fate to this single sloth demon.

Once again, the demon seemed to be reading her mind. It kept its eyes resolutely forward as it plodded on, but its rumbling voice broke the silence of the now-still ravine. "_Do not bother attempting to talk to it_."

Merrill's heart skipped a beat. "W-what are you talking about?"

"_There is a spirit following us,"_ the demon said, moving around a warped, disfigured statue rising up out of the ground. Merrill passed the statue, shivering as the monolith's hollow, dead eyes seemed to follow her path. "_It will not reveal itself to you and you would be foolish to attempt to force its hand."_

"Why?"

The demon let out a gurgling sigh, shaking its spiky pelt. It finally fixed its glowing red eyes on her, its nose curling up in what seemed like a condescending sneer. "_Not all spirits in this place… are as trustworthy as I am. And few spirits would willingly approach a new, suspicious-looking mortal traveling in the presence of a demon."_

"What if it's a demon following us?"

"_It could be_."

She glanced over her shoulder again. Still nothing. "I thought you just said it was a spirit. Which is it?"

"_Whichever you prefer."_

Merrill frowned. They emerged into a wide-open clearing covered in dead, razor-edged grass. The entire clearing was shrouded by thick mist, with huge masses of rock floating high over their head. It seemed like a decent enough place to stop for a time. The demon looked around, then rested back on its rear and let out a heavy sigh.

"_The Fade doesn't work like your world_," it said. "_The rules are different here. This place shifts to fit your perception, as do those who inhabit it."_

Merrill had heard this theory, but had never fully understood it. To her, the Beyond was always some _other_ place, like hearing of some far-off kingdom without actually visiting any of its wonders. She knew all manner of things about the Beyond, but it was something else entirely to actually see it and all its mysteries in person.

"So none of this-" she gestured to the clearing, "-is actually real?"

"_There is a vast difference between what you _see_ and what is _real_. You mortals always seem to struggle with the concept. Just because you see something one way does not mean it always exists as you perceive. And just because it is formless does not mean it is not real."_

It gestured to the clearing with its snout. "_If you wished it, this clearing could appear like a street in your city, or your favorite reading spot in the woods. It could be a forest or a desert or even the middle of a lake. There is no set of rules governing this place or the denizens living within."_

"So the thing following us…" Merrill said, "is it a demon or a spirit?"

"_That, my dear, is entirely up to you. The Fade shifts its reality to fit the perception of the viewer. If you believe our follower to be a demon, it will be so to you. If you believe it to be a spirit, it will be so to you. If _I _see it as a demon… well, I'm sure you get the idea."_

"So if I wanted, could I change your form? Could I imagine you as… I don't know, a friendly puppy?" Merrill couldn't deny that the thought was unappealing. It would certainly brighten her spirits, even if the puppy was a demon in disguise.

"_If you could perceive me differently_," the demon replied. "_But few mortals are capable of such changes._"

"Why?"

"_If all your collective mortal senses told you the world was one way, could you force yourself to believe differently? You mortals experience the world through your senses. You are too rooted in viewing the world as you yourself experience it. A world such as this, formless and ancient, was not meant for you."_

It sniffed the air, then rose to its heavy paws once again. "_Let us continue, before Validation and her minions catch our scent. We are close now, and she surely knows what we are trying to do."_

Merrill quickly followed behind the spectral bear, ready to unleash a torrent of magic at the slightest provocation. This place was full of mystery and hidden danger. She had been stupid enough to get herself into this mess and she wouldn't be taken by surprise again. They left the grassy clearing behind, and Merrill looked over her shoulder to see it swallowed up by deep green fog only moments after they passed from it.

They walked along in silence for a time, Merrill keeping her eyes on the jagged rocks that surrounded them. She could still see dark figures prowling about, but many of them were little more than shadows. As long as they kept their distance, Merrill was content to leave them alone.

"_I must say…_" the demon said. "_Your determination to defy Validation is… surprising. Few I have encountered have the will to stand against a pride demon."_

"Are… are you saying I'm being _brave_?" Of all the ways to describe her current attitude, brave was not the first that came to mind.

But the demon let out a low, grumbling chuckle. "_Undoubtedly. It is one of the most foolish traits of your kind. Mortals fight even when they know they cannot win. Imagine the damage that has been caused in pointless conflict with higher powers."_

Merrill sighed, heart pounding as they passed through a particularly narrow section of the path. She could see glowing eyes above the edge of the small ravine, watching them intently. The sloth demon paid them no heed, padding resolutely ahead with its head lowered and eyes drooping sleepily.

"_We are close now,"_ it said. "_With luck, he will be willing to see you. I hope for your sake, mortal, that he has the information you seek. The Fade is not for your kind. Better for all involved if you leave as quickly as possible."_

Merrill wrung her hands. "Will… will you stay here? Didn't you say it was safe here?"

"_I may remain here for a time. These spirits are… familiar to me. And this area is out of Validation's realm of power. It will be safer here than my previous home."_

It looked over at her. "_Why do you ask?_"

Merrill blushed and stared at her bare feet, sore and swollen from so much walking. "It's just… I don't know anyone here. This place is completely foreign to me. And you may be a demon, but… well, you're the first being I've seen in the Beyond that's willing to help me."

"_Are you calling me a friend?_"

"Are you?"

The demon stared at her, as if simultaneously curious and alarmed. It cocked its head and flicked its ears back and forth, blinking slowly. Then it snorted and continued lumbering down the path. "_If that is what you wish, then… I suppose I could make it so."_

Merrill was about to say more when the demon suddenly looked up and sniffed the putrid, humid air. Its eyes flashed and it let out a low growl, picking up its pace. It glanced back at her as it broke into a jog; remarkable, considering its girth.

"_Come, little mortal. We have arrived."_

Merrill broke into a jog, easily catching up to the heavyset bear. Together, they turned a corner and found themselves standing in the courtyard of a dilapidated, run-down fort, about the size of a large house. The stone walls had long since caved in, the roof crashing down into the many rooms of the interior. The windows were shattered and the tangle of weeds along the front wall – probably once a garden – had long since died.

_If the Beyond is a twisted mirror of the real world_, Merrill thought, _I wonder what this place really looks like. Is it fancy and new? Or just as shabby as this?_

There were demons and spirits alike everywhere she looked; fiery rage demons, shadowy whisps, golden, glowing spirits of courage, armored spirits of valor, and even other bear-like sloth demons. Surprisingly, they all seemed to be co-existing, talking with each other or laughing and pointing at others. It almost looked like a sanctuary of sorts, where all manner of creatures came to interact with each other in safety.

However, when they caught sight of Merrill and her demonic guide, the entire courtyard fell silent. Several of the entities pointed at them and began speaking in hushed whispers. They even seemed suspicious of Merrill's sloth demon companion, regardless of the fact that he was created of the Beyond just as they were.

Merrill glanced at her guide, but found that the demon was simply staring back sleepily, paying no heed to the crowd's hisses and suspicious whispers. It gestured with its ears for her to follow, and they slowly approached the house. They didn't make it far before a twisted, gravelly voice cut through the surprised chatter of the assembled spirits.

"_You there! Halt!"_

Merrill instantly froze, eyes wide and hands clenched together in front of her. The sloth demon slowly padded to a halt, yawning widely but not looking disturbed in the least.

"_I have made this place a sanctum of shelter and protection. Why do you now threaten it?"_

Ahead of them, the crowd parted to reveal a tall, lanky figure cloaked in swirling blue fire. His eyes blazed like twin stars and the crystal at the end of his angular, dangerous-looking staff sparked with each step he took toward them. His long blond hair was pulled back behind his head in a tight ponytail, and his black feathered pauldrons ruffled in the tepid, foul-smelling wind.

Merrill took one look at the newcomer and gasped, eyes as wide as saucers now.

"Anders? What are you doing here?"

* * *

**Kirkwall**

Validation ducked out of sight down a shadowy alley, watching with sharp red eyes as a patrol of Templars passed by. The humans were infuriating, watching almost every street corner from here to Darktown. Validation's thirst for death had been satiated by the death of the human down at the docks, but the thought of catching up to the white-haired elf, this _Fenris_, made her heart flutter in anticipation.

Merrill's memories of Fenris were far from positive. The girl's head was full of images of rejection, twisted sneers, and angry stares. Memories of shouting and arguing time and time again.

"_Magic is not a curse!" she shouted, stamping one foot. "Just because I was born with the ability to cast spells doesn't mean I'm an evil person!"_

_"__It _makes_ you an evil person!" Fenris shouted back. "Magic corrupts everything it touches and no mage, no matter how good their intentions, are free of its influence!"_

_He took a step closer, lip curling. "Hawke may trust you, blood mage, but I do not. And one day, when you reveal your true colors, I'll be there to put a sword through your ribs."_

_With that, he turned and stalked away. Merrill wrung her hands, tears beginning to well in her eyes. She choked them back. "Fenris…"_

_He whirled on her again. "You think you are somehow different from the legions who have come before you? How many blood mages have told themselves they were doing it for the greater good? To help people? In the end, they always fell to their temptations."_

_He sneered at her, folding his tattooed arms across his chest. "Blood magic has claimed the minds of mages much stronger than a skinny, naïve Dalish girl like you. You are an accident waiting to happen, and I will not be caught in the aftermath of your mistakes."_

_As he started to turn from her, she murmured, "I'm sorry Denarius was so mean to you. But not all of us are like him. Some of us only want to help others."_

_She wanted him to see this from her perspective, to understand that all she had done – all she had sacrificed – had been to help others. Maybe if he just understood…_

_But he shook his head. "That is how it always begins. That is exactly what Denarius said to other mages while grinding slaves and peasants under heel. Trusting him was the mistake of a fool. Trusting you is even more so."_

_Then he turned and left her to hug herself and struggle to convince herself that he was wrong._

The source of the contention from within Merrill came from this single man. There were others, true: Marethari, Pol, Mahariel, and others. But those were names that were beyond Validation's reach. Fenris, by comparison, was an easily accessible target.

Validation watched the Templar patrol finally pass by, tantalizing herself with images of how he would beg for mercy before the end. How would he whimper? How would he plead? Would he promise to give her anything to stay her hand, or face his death with silent determination? He would fight back, of course. But even a lyrium-ravaged rebel slave with the ability to tear people's hearts from their chests could not hope to stand up to the power of an eons-old pride demon in the body of a seasoned blood mage.

When she defeated him, she decided she would make him kneel before her and beg forgiveness for his many crimes against her. He would admit that all his previous allegations were borne of jealousy and distrust. He would bow before her and acknowledge that she was better in every way.

The image it brought to life in her mind sent a thrill of heat through her chest, and a smile tugged at her stolen lips. And after Fenris lay dead and broken at her feet, having acknowledged her superiority, she would move on to the others. Soon, similar fates would befall Marethari, the rest of that idiot Dalish clan, and any others who had slighted Merrill over the years. Validation would gorge herself on their fear and pain, their blood shed in acknowledgement of her dominance.

Another memory, this time of that insufferable mage, Anders.

_"__How can you simply stand by and ignore the plight of your fellow mages?"_

_Merrill crossed her arms. "I've never met them. How do you know things in the Circle are so bad?"_

_"__Because I know how life in the Circles works," Anders said. "I was raised in the Ferelden Circle. I have friends in the Kirkwall Circle. All who live in the shadow of the Templars suffer for it."_

_He took a step toward her, his face tugging down in a scowl. "How can you just sit idly by while your fellow mages are hunted and oppressed? How can you turn a blind eye when there are people out there who need your help?"_

_"__Your people, Anders," Merrill pressed. "Not mine."_

_"__Of course," Anders scoffed. "Your precious Dalish, who dumped you on the first passerby they could find. They don't care about you. Those trapped in the Circle of Magi would."_

_Merrill's stern determination faltered. "That's… that's not true. My people do care about me. They just…"_

_"__Just what? Think you should get some space? Go out and explore the world? Merrill, if they wanted you with them, they would have kept you. They have too few people in their clans already. Why would they willingly throw away potential hunters or defenders?"_

_"__B-because I needed to conduct my research in-"_

_"__Because they don't give a shit about you!" Anders interrupted. "Don't you see? There is no place for you among the Dalish. But there is a place for you here, if you would just open your eyes and see it!"_

_Merrill blinked away tears. He wasn't right. He couldn't be right. She had family among the Sabrae clan, friends who would stand behind her if..._

_But where were they now? She was stuck in an unfamiliar city, surrounded by unfamiliar people and customs. She was lost in every sense of the word and not even Varric's ball of twine could help her find her way back. And throughout it all, where was her precious clan? Hiding on Sundermount, content to abandon her to this chaotic world. Now, the only one who even tried to help was Hawke, and she was… confusing._

_She shook her head. "No. This is your crusade, Anders. Not mine. I think it's great that you believe so strongly in what you're doing. But I don't share that belief. You just have to accept that."_

_Anders stared at her, disbelieving, then shook his head and turned away. As he left, she heard him mutter, "Damned blood mages."_

_In a way, that hurt most of all._

Validation shook her head, shaking loose the memory. There were too many thoughts in this head, chaotic and quick like a swarm of quizzical butterflies darting back and forth. It was difficult to get it all under control, but with effort she forced the thoughts to the back of her mind.

She had chosen her host well. Merrill had been mistreated and trodden upon by many in her life, though she was strangely beloved by many at the same time. Those relationships were useless, but the stressful ones, the ones ripe with contention showed much promise.

She peeked out from around the corner, watching through narrowed scarlet eyes as all manner of humans, elves, and dwarves passed by her dark alley. How many of them could feed her, she wondered? How many could eventually contribute to her power? Kirkwall was a dangerous, dirty, and hateful city. It was the perfect feeding ground for a demon like her.

Validation had long ago learned how to manipulate the desires of her prey. Eons past, she had grown fond of the taste of resentment, particularly the righteous indignation that followed retribution. Anders and Fenris were easy sources of such resentment in Merrill; for such a sweet girl, she _hated_ the two. She tried to hide it, for the sake of herself and her other friends, but behind the polite conversation and easygoing demeanor, she loathed them with a passion.

And that passion would fuel Validation, give her power and strength until that time when she would be able to drive a sword through the elf and the apostate, relishing in the emotional discharge that would soon follow.

Against her will, another memory rose to her mind's eye as she slunk out from the alley and darted across the street. This time it wasn't a recollection of past hatreds or petty squabbles. This memory felt… different. Warmer.

And instead of Fenris or the others, she saw an attractive, dark-haired woman with a long, ropy scar stretching down the right side of her face. Her pale grey eyes flashed with a hint of humor, a smirk tugging at the corner of her red lips as she cupped a warm mug of tea between her hands.

Hawke. Her name was Hawke. Validation felt a shiver run down her spine at the thought. This was the mage she had buried alive back in that cave on Sundermount. She held a special place in Merrill's heart, plagued by a very different kind of contention.

_"__So…" the woman said, "these spirits… what do they _do_? I mean, they can't just float around in the Fade and just wait to jump out and possess someone."_

_"__Well… they do what we do, I guess," Merrill replied, holding her own teacup in her dexterous fingers. "Talk, think, laugh, love."_

_"__Love?"_

_"__Why not? Spirits aren't that different from us. Just because they come from a different plane doesn't make them _not_ people. They can be nice or mean. They can help or hinder. And they can hate or love. It's not that difficult to believe, once you actually speak to one of the nicer ones."_

_Hawke smiled dryly. "I guess I just have the bad luck to never meet the nicer ones."_

_Merrill returned the smile. "They don't usually talk to strangers, Marian."_

_Hawke rested her forearms on the tabletop that separated them, rubbing her scarred chin absently as she thought. "So… when you sleep at night, you're able to talk to these spirits?"_

_"__Sometimes. If I'm lucky. Why? Haven't you?"_

_"__Maker's breath, no," the raven-haired mage replied. "I always have strange dreams. Singing wheels of cheese, talking cows, things like that."_

_Merrill giggled. "I know of a few spirits that may be sending those dreams to you on purpose."_

_"__So what do you talk about? When you're talking to these spirits, that is."_

_Merrill shrugged, sipping at the tea she had brewed for the two of them. The tang of peppermint stung her tongue, but she had grown to enjoy the taste since moving to Kirkwall. "All sorts of things. Music, politics, even Varric's stories. Did you know that even spirits in the Beyond know about _Hard in Hightown_? They say that they like watching the dreams of Varric's fans. All the spirits gather together to watch the dreams retell the story. The wisps especially enjoy tales of any kind."_

_Hawke snorted into her own teacup. "I'm sure that'll make Varric very happy."_

_"__I mean, just the other day, I was telling them about the time you and Varric went to visit Aveline-"_

_"__Wait, wait," Hawke interrupted. "You tell them about us specifically?"_

_Merrill blinked. "Of course. Why wouldn't I talk about my friends?"_

_"__Is that safe?"_

_Merrill shook her head, adopting a tone similar to when she was talking to a small child. "Hawke, there aren't as many demons running around the Beyond as you might think. All of them start out as spirits, anyway."_

_Hawke smiled, a little cautiously. "And just what do these spirits know about Marian Hawke?"_

_"__I told them you're brave," Merrill said, feeling a blush begin to color her tattooed cheeks. "And that you like to tell jokes. You're very smart; smarter than any other person I know. And…"_

_She blushed harder. "And I said that you're very beautiful."_

_Hawke grinned, sending a thrill of excitement into the pit of Merrill's stomach. Like butterflies. "Did you now?"_

_"__I-It was only because there were spirits of splendor there!" Merrill stammered, cursing her awkwardness with each word that passed her lips. "They wanted to know! And then a spirit of valor asked about your scar, and I said…"_

_Hawke just smiled knowingly, sipping at her tea._

Validation shook her head to clear it of the clinging memories. This _Hawke_ wasn't like the others. She held a different place in Merrill's heart. A lighter place, not so bogged down by hatred or sorrow. Validation couldn't tell if the sensation made her sick to her stomach or if it only stirred her hunger more. The idea of Hawke being in the same position as Fenris, lying prostrate before her and begging for mercy and forgiveness…

She licked her lips as she cut across a busy street, swerving to avoid a short and stocky dwarf. Maybe after Fenris was dead, and Anders after him, she would turn her attention to Hawke. After all, what was more appetizing than the submission of the one who dared call herself the leader of this so-called "merry band of misfits?"

Validation felt a mixture of hunger and rage twist in her gut. Hawke was a special case. And when the time came, she would show the mage just how little beauty, intelligence, and humor could help her.

* * *

**Hightown**

"Are you sure this is wise, Sister?"

Leliana nodded, casting a terse glance over her shoulder. "Don't try to second-guess me, Athia. I know what I'm doing."

The young lay sister nodded sheepishly. "O-of course. You are the Left Hand, after all…"

"Ssh. Do not speak so loudly. This city has ears everywhere, and my mission must remain a secret."

Leliana shifted her weight from foot to foot, anxiously waiting to return to the group. Hawke and Varric had been deep in conversation with one of their many smuggler friends: a stern-looking elven woman in what looked like stolen Dalish armor. When Leliana had slipped away, they had been arguing about using the local smuggler's guilds to keep an eye on Templar patrols near the Black Emporium – Hawke had obviously taken her promise to Xenon the Antiquarian seriously.

Leliana had taken advantage of the heated conversation to quietly sneak away and signal one of the many Chantry lay sisters scattered throughout the city. Many of them knew her by reputation because of her own current status as a lay sister, and several had been hand-picked by Grand Cleric Elthina to assist her in her mission.

Athia was of the latter group; a young, fair-haired lass in her early twenties, already deep in study and training to become a priestess. According to the Grand Cleric, she was loyal and hardworking; though she seemed to have trouble keeping her voice down, especially when dealing with sensitive information.

"R-right. I just find myself wondering… why go through all the trouble? This Hawke woman has done nothing to help or hinder your mission. Why distract yourself with her troubles?"

"Hawke's troubles may very well lead me to other names on my list," Leliana said, casting another glance over her shoulder with a scowl. "I already suspect blood magic may be involved here. I am simply working this group from the inside. It is easier than shadowing them from afar."

"And if there is blood magic?"

Leliana did not hesitate. "Then Hawke will die. As will this mage she is attempting to find."

"Just like that? No trial? No defense?"

Leliana rubbed her forehead. "Athia, I have neither the time nor the patience to explain my motives to you. Suffice to say that mages who resort to blood magic are beyond redemption. I have seen the effects of their corruption firsthand, and I will not allow that taint to spread into this city."

She let out a short breath. "I truly hope Hawke and her allies prove my suspicions wrong. But if not, this _distraction_ may just lead me to even more targets."

She reached into her tunic and produced a tightly-rolled piece of parchment. She handed it to the young lay sister, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Have faith, Athia. I learned long ago how to play this game. To me, the moves are as easy as breathing."

She pointed to the parchment as Athia slid it into the sleeve of her robes. "Ensure that missive reaches the Grand Cleric. It is an update on my mission's status so far. And inform her that I may need to request Templar assistance if Hawke indeed leads me to apostate blood mages."

"At once, Sister Nightingale." Athia bowed her head, murmuring, "Be careful."

Sister Nightingale couldn't help but smile as she watched the young woman hurry off towards the Chantry, robes billowing in the slight breeze, smiling to other Hightown residents as she went. She reminded Leliana of herself when she was young; optimistic, loving, and convinced she had found her place in the world.

_How quickly such beliefs can change…_

Her smile quickly faded and she turned to rejoin the group, pulling her purple-hued hood back up to shade her eyes. She didn't make it a single step before she found Hawke leaning against a nearby signpost, arms folded as she watched Leliana with narrowed gray eyes.

Every muscle in Leliana's body froze, hands tensing and ready to spring into action.

How much had been seen? How much had been _heard_? If her true purpose here was revealed, she needed to act _now_, lest Hawke get the upper hand. But she wasn't _ready_. She needed a plan, one that would effectively and quickly silence both Hawke and her dwarven friend.

But Hawke just nodded after Athia and said, "Friend of yours?"

Leliana didn't move, watching the mage warily. "A new acquaintance, actually. I am new to Kirkwall, and she is my contact within the Chantry. Even a Bard must have allies."

She raised her hands placatingly. "I know you aren't too fond of the Chantry or its people-"

"Almost having your head carved in half by a lunatic Templar will do that to you," Hawke said, gesturing to the ropy scar that stretched down her face. "Experiences at that young an age tend to stick with you, Sister Nightingale."

Leliana took a deep breath and forged forward. If Hawke was buying the lie, she couldn't back out now. "The Grand Game of Orlais affects many aspects of life. Sometimes I must reach out to the Chantry, just as you yourself were forced to reach out to Xenon and the Black Emporium."

Hawke pushed away from the signpost and approached her. Leliana felt her hands tightening into fists, preparing for what seemed like an inevitable fight. Hawke stopped a little too close for comfort, holding Leliana's cerulean blue gaze with her steel gray one.

"I don't know why you're really here, Leliana," she said, voice low and menacing. "I know that whatever you're after, it's far more than just investigating a few missing miners. But I'm willing to overlook that because you're helping me find my friend."

Her face drew down in a scowl, eyes blazing. "I appreciate your help. I genuinely do. But if I find out that you have any ulterior motive that brings harm to me or my friends, I swear to Andraste and the Maker that I will kill you, no matter what history you used to have with me or my sister. Am I understood?"

"But-"

"Am I understood?" Hawke repeated.

Leliana defiantly held that cold gray gaze, chin tilting up imperiously. But she realized a face-off with Hawke was futile at this point; it would only delay them from their goal and rob Leliana of a potentially greater lead to more apostates. So she backed off with a curt nod. "Very well, Marian. I will keep the subterfuge to a minimum, though my fellow Orlesians will not love me for it."

Hawke stared at her for a few moments longer – long enough for Leliana to grown uncomfortable – then slowly nodded and said, "All right then. Glad that's settled."

She turned and gestured for Leliana to follow her back to where Varric was still bickering with the elven smuggler. "We're close to the _Blooming Rose_ now," she said. "But before we get there, prepare yourself for some… interesting encounters."

"How so?" Leliana asked, eager to shift conversation from well-founded accusations of betrayal."I am no stranger to the intrigues of a city brothel."

"Isabela's a… different sort," Hawke said. "She enjoys the more carnal pleasures in life. I wouldn't be surprised if she tried coming on to you before the night is up."

"Let her try," Leliana said with a quiet laugh. "She will find that I am no easy prey to ensnare. I know her kind. I have worked with them before."

"You have?"

She nodded. "An elven rogue named Zevran Arainai. He attempted to seduce every woman in the company I traveled with, even our healer who was several decades older than he. I'm sure, given enough time, he would have tried to seduce all the men as well."

"You make it sound like you disliked this man."

"Far from it," Leliana said honestly. Constant innuendos and sexual offers aside, Zevran was one of her most trusted friends, an invaluable ally in these dark days after the Blight had ended. His smooth, easygoing nature and sharp wit had kept her spirits high, even on those days when all she wished to do was crawl into some Maker-forsaken hole and never emerge again. She wondered where he was now…

But she quickly shook such thoughts away. "Zevran and I became fast friends. He did not expect I, a former lay sister of the Chantry, would have stories to rival his own."

Hawke raised a surprised eyebrow. "Do you now?"

"Oh yes," Leliana said with a grin. "A Bard is a master of sabotage, mischief, and seduction, after all. I have stories that would no doubt make even your Isabela blush. "

Hawke finally responded with a grin of her own. "You'll have to share those stories with us sometime. I'm sure Varric would be overjoyed to hear tales of sabotage, mischief, and seduction. It'll probably fit right in to the new romance serial he's writing."

Hawke then turned back to the elven smuggler and continued arguing, seemingly content to let their earlier conversation drop. In an instant, Leliana's smile faded as she thought back to Hawke's threats.

It was too close. Stupid of her to let her guard down, particularly now. Thankfully it didn't seem like Hawke knew what was really going on. She definitely suspected, though, and that put Leliana in a very precarious position. Hawke was more dangerous than Leliana had originally anticipated, and while she still wasn't convinced she needed to kill the apostate, she was quickly growing to wonder if she would even be _able_ to if the time came.

She took a deep breath, calming her nerves. _Of course you will be able to. You've faced down Antivan Crows, werewolves, High Dragons, and the full armies of a Blight! By comparison, how difficult could it be to kill a single apostate mage?_

She thought back to Hawke's earlier threat. _If I find out that you have any ulterior motive that brings harm to me or my friends, I swear to Andraste and the Maker that I will kill you._

She watched the mage argue with the angry-looking smuggler and a grim frown began to harden her features. _No, Hawke. You are very, very mistaken._

During their travels during the Blight, Alistair had taught her how to play chess. A _king's game_, it was called. Supposedly, it taught the player basic battlefield tactics and strategy, as well as problem solving and intellect. Naturally, Leliana had taken a quick liking to the game. She quickly grew to out-play Alistair, Zevran, and even Wynne eventually.

The reason was simple; while playing, her opponents spent too much time and effort keeping their pawns and important pieces on the board. They wasted precious time and energy trying to keep as many of their pieces from Leliana's grasp as possible. Leliana, by comparison, had forged ahead with seemingly reckless abandon, sacrificing pawns, knights, castles, and any other piece that got in the way of her victory. Her opponents spent so much time attempting to recoup their own losses that by the time they had recovered, the game was already over.

Hawke was the same way; she had many "pieces" still on the board. Elements of the game that she was attempting to keep on her side: Varric, Merrill, Anders, her mother… all were weaknesses just begging to be exploited. The loss of any one piece would cripple her and leave an opening to remove another, compounding the damage.

Leliana, on the other hand, had carefully and strategically stripped away all potential weaknesses before starting her mission. Her ravens were far from Kirkwall, reporting back and forth to the Divine. The adorable Schmooples was similarly very far from here and out of the reach of any who sought to harm her. Her former traveling companions, from the Blight and even before, were all either dead, missing, or scattered to the winds. She had no weak pieces left to be threatened.

Leliana held no illusions that Hawke meant every word of her threat. But if it came to combat, Leliana would have the perfect targets to bring Hawke down both physically and emotionally. Her allies would fall, one by one, until there was only Hawke left standing. And by then it would already be too late.

Leliana was ready for the approaching face-off. Hawke, by comparison, was woefully unprepared.

The mage happened to glance over at Leliana as she continued arguing, and the Nightingale held that cold gray stare. She folded her arms across her chest, feeling the comforting weight of her daggers on her back.

_Checkmate,_ she thought.

* * *

_Author's Note: Things are starting to heat up between Hawke and Leliana now. I wouldn't be surprised if there was a fight scene soon. *wink wink*_

_I had a lot of fun writing this. I particularly liked writing the flashback argument between Merrill and Anders. Even when looking at the dialogue from DA2, Anders never really seems to care about Merrill's culture or her different views about spirits and the Fade. It's his way or the highway, and that was an intriguing character dynamic that made that scene very interesting to write._

_More will come soon! As always, reviews are very much appreciated._


	15. Bela and the Blooming Rose

**Kirkwall (Present)**

Leliana paused in her retelling of events, giving Varric enough time to shoot a smirk in her direction. He leaned back in his chair with a chuckle, shaking his head. "You know I hate to say it, Songbird, but you were kind of a bitch back then. It's no wonder Hawke didn't trust you."

Leliana grimaced. "Unfortunately, I cannot disagree with you."

"So did you spend the _entire_ time with us plotting different ways to kill us?"

Leliana just shrugged apologetically. "Would you prefer it if I lied to you?"

"Probably not," the dwarf replied. "Makes a better story this way."

As always, Cassandra came to the aid of her friend. "Sister Leliana had just emerged from the Blight, Varric. The Battle of Denerim was barely a year past when she was assigned to Kirkwall. The monument to the Hero of Ferelden had finished construction barely a week before."

Leliana winced visibly at the mention of the battle and the monument, and Varric could easily understand why. Virtually everyone in Thedas knew of the Hero of Ferelden, but very few knew of Lady Nightingale's history with the now-famous Grey Warden.

Most of the tales made it seem like Warden Mahariel had united Ferelden with only the help of King Alistair and her faithful Mabari. The young Dalish elf had rallied all the peoples of Ferelden to her side, snatching the crown away from the villainous Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir before sacrificing herself to slay the monstrous Archdemon that commanded the Blight. It was a tale for the ages, and – like most tales of its kind – was mostly made of the highest-quality bullshit.

Varric knew there was more to it than that, that there were more involved than just a pair of heroic Grey Wardens. He knew Leliana had been one of the Hero's most trusted companions as well as the Dalish rogue's erstwhile lover. The two had been nigh inseparable, cutting down hundreds of Darkspawn in battle while Leliana's history with politics and diplomacy (not to mention subterfuge and sabotage) helped guide the Warden through the strenuous task of uniting half a continent under one banner.

And then Mahariel had died killing the Archdemon, sacrificing her life and her very soul to bring the Blight to an end. Like many others, Varric had heard the claims of what had happened in Denerim as the Warden plunged her sword into the Archdemon; huge gouts of fire roaring across the sky, smoke-clogged clouds roiling as a pillar of white light erupted into the heavens. Varric made his living using his imagination, but he couldn't even begin to picture the simultaneous wonder and horror of such a scene.

And after it was all over, to the dismay of an entire country, the heroic Warden Mahariel was dead.

With all that information, the Hero's story took a much more tragic turn, and Leliana's story become almost heartbreaking: two souls finding happiness in the midst of the end of the world, then being forced apart forever, seemingly by the hand of fate itself. Varric had never been one for tragedies and this one was one of the worst he'd ever heard, made even worse by the realization that it was true. It was difficult to remember sometimes that for everything he'd done, all he'd lost over the years, Leliana had lost just as much. Perhaps even more.

_It's no wonder Songbird wasn't in the mood for cheer and optimism,_ he thought._ Especially considering what happened later…_

He nodded somberly. "I guess it makes sense why your temper was so short."

"Thank you for your understanding, Varric," the Nightingale murmured, face obscured in shadow.

Cassandra put a comforting hand on her friend's shoulder, then turned her stern gaze on Varric once more. "We are not finished with this tale, dwarf. You said Hawke was closing in on the demon?"

Varric sighed, eager to move on to happier thoughts; by comparison to heroic sacrifices and tragic deaths, at least. He clapped his gloved hands against his thighs and adjusted his seat to a more comfortable position.

"That she was, Seeker. Getting closer by the minute, though we didn't know it at the time. But before we get to that scene, we have to take a little detour into Kirkwall's seediest and most popular brothel…"

* * *

**The _Blooming Rose_, Hightown (Past)**

Hawke felt a wash of warm, rose-scented air pass over her as they crossed the threshold to the _Blooming Rose_. A smile tugged at her lips as she heard the sound of idle chatter, laughter, and music coming from the main room beyond the small antechamber where they now stood.

It was fancy, at least as far as brothels went. The walls were draped with deep scarlet curtains, the floor was covered either by thick and fluffy-looking carpeting or intricate Free Marches tile designs, and the windows were made of expensive stained glass. The staff were all impeccably dressed – or not dressed at all, depending on which role they had to play – and the tables inside were clean, straight, and comfortable. A roaring fire dominated the center room, chasing away the cold and leaving a pleasant tingle against Hawke's skin.

Hawke wasn't much for brothels – at least that was what she would tell anyone – but she had to admit the _Rose_ had a rustic kind of charm to it. It was familiar and safe, though its proximity to the new estate meant Hawke looked over her shoulder every time she entered, lest her mother or brother accidentally spot her.

Leliana seemed to be having a similar reaction. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling all the scents of flowers, ale, and food that wafted toward them. She smiled, apparently feeling safe enough to pull her purple-hued hood down across her shoulders, letting her flame-red hair hang free.

"Hmm…" she sighed, still smiling. She opened her eyes and followed closely behind the group as they headed toward the brothel. "This reminds me of Orlais. So lavish and extravagant! And is that woman wearing feathered slippers? How adorable!"

Varric glanced at her, then snorted. "You're watching the people's _slippers_ in a place like this? Really?"

"We all must have our hobbies, Master Tethras," she replied. "And it is no surprise that women enjoy shoes."

"Still," the dwarf said with a shrug, "you just don't strike me as the self-absorbed _shoes-for-any-and-all-occasions_ type."

"You would be surprised at what _type_ many are behind closed doors," she said. "Or in the presence of a beautiful woman. Both of which can be found here, I imagine. Just think of all the information one could learn in a place like this. One could sit here for days and just soak in scandal after scandal!"

"Lucky for us," Hawke cut in, "we're only here for one person. Let's get her and go so we can find out what this demon is up to."

"Right," Leliana said. "Of course. Forgive me for being so easily distracted."

"It's okay." Hawke nodded, accepting her apology. Then she glanced over Leliana's shoulder and said, "Don't look now, but that woman is wearing pearl-studded heels. Probably from Rivain."

"Is she?" Leliana gasped. "Oh, I must see!"

While the Nightingale was fawning from afar over the woman's shoes, Hawke stepped up to the bar and flagged down Madame Lusine, the brothel's owner. Lusine, a stern, white-haired veteran of the trade, fixed Hawke with a knowing smirk, opening the infamous leather-bound Rose Journal, which held all the appointments of the _Rose's _patrons.

"Welcome back, _Sera _Hawke," she said, producing a quill and inkwell seemingly from out of nowhere. "I see you've brought friends with you this time. Shall I reserve a room for three? You usually only ask for the single room."

"No!" Hawke said, eyes widening and cheeks coloring in embarrassment. For a brothel Madame, Lusine didn't have much of a lock on her mouth. She was supposed to be known for her discretion, dammit! "No, we're not here for that, thank you."

"Ah, I see you two are already acquainted," Varric murmured with an equally perceptive smirk. "And here I thought I was going to be able to make introductions."

Leliana approached the bar to Varric's left, apparently having finished ogling the other patrons' shoes. "You know the Madame personally?"

"Of course," the dwarf replied. "The Blooming Rose helped fund my first foray into romance serials. _Rogues and Roses_. Shit work in my opinion, but they sold well. Especially here."

Hawke hoped the conversation would move things away from more embarrassing topics, but the Madame simply forged on ahead, looking in her ledger with a sharp eye and even sharper tongue.

"A single room it is, then," she said, scribbling something down on one page. "Shall I prepare your usual, _Sera _Hawke? I believe Cora is available if you give her a few minutes to pretty herself up."

Hawke blushed so deeply, she was sure she was red as a tomato. _Maker preserve me_, she thought, feeling her stomach tangle into a particularly tight knot. _Varric will never let me live this down._

Sure enough, Varric snorted behind his hand while Leliana simply quirked up an eyebrow while thankfully remaining silent. Cringing from embarrassment, Hawke shook her head and managed to groan, "_No_, thank you. We're just here to see someone."

"I'm sure."

"Maker, not like that!"

"As you say."

Hawke groaned, rubbing her forehead. She gestured to Varric as she turned away. "I give up. Can you talk some sense into her?"

Varric chuckled as he stepped forward. He leaned casually against the bar, fixing the white-haired Madame with a charming grin. "My dear Madame, we're here to see one of your patrons. She probably checked in a few hours ago. Tall rivaini woman, blue bandana, carrying more knives than she knows what to do with?"

"You know we don't give out the names of our clients, Master Tethras. I run a discrete business here."

"Yet you have no problem humiliating those clients in front of their friends," Hawke muttered, face still burning. She covered her eyes with one hand, cursing their decision to come here. _It's all to rescue Merrill_, she kept telling herself. _We're doing this for Merrill. Just keep that in mind._

Leliana certainly didn't help when she leaned closer and whispered, "If it's any consolation, Cora is very pretty. Elven prostitutes are very popular in brothels in Orlais. You have good taste, Marian."

"Right," the mage sighed, pretending to busy herself with her hair to help cover up her humiliation. "Because this situation wasn't embarrassing enough. Thank you for chipping in, Lady Nightingale."

Leliana grinned. "My pleasure."

Varric, meanwhile, had produced a pouch from his belt and shook it for emphasis. Hawke distinctly heard the clink of heavy coins within. Varric produced three gold sovereigns and slid them across the bar to the white-haired Madame. He shot her one of his most charming grins and said, "Me and my three friends here _really_ need to see this lady. But if you can turn them down…"

"You think I'm some tavern wench that can be swayed by a few shiny bits of gold?" Lusine scoffed. "I beg your pardon, Master Tethras, but I run an honest business here. If you can't accept that, I must ask you to leave!"

Varric raised his hands in defeat, stepping away from the bar. "All right, all right. Have it your way."

Hawke noticed with a sly smirk that during the exchange, the three sovereigns had vanished from the bartop; straight into Lusine's coin purse, no doubt. The Madame glared at Varric one more time before turning back to the Rose Journal, scribbling something down.

"Room Two is available if you're looking to stay the night," she said, putting a little too much emphasis behind her voice for it to be taken at face value. "If you're looking to get rough, be careful; it's a small room and things are liable to break."

Hawke knew enough sneaky-speak to understand what the Madame was saying. _The person you're looking for is in Room Two. If you're here to fight, take it outside or risk paying for the damages._

Varric grinned again and bowed low. "You honor us with your patience, Madame Lusine. May the _Rose_ see many more years of service with only a few outbreaks of uncomfortable and embarrassing diseases."

Lusine waved her hand, brushing them off. "Away with you, all of you! I have customers to service."

"I am sure," Leliana said as she passed with a sly wink at the woman. Lusine responded with an even deeper scowl before turning back to the Rose Journal.

"Well that was entertaining," the Nightingale said as they followed Varric upstairs. "Is she always so charming?"

"She grows on you," Varric said. "Once you learn to look past her bluff of honest business practices. The smartest in this city learned long ago that coin sets all tongues waggling, especially in the brothels."

Hawke grimaced. Even for him, that joke was in bad taste. "Ugh. Varric, tone back the euphemisms. That's Isabela's job."

He laughed, stepping up onto the second floor. "You're right. I'll have to tell that one to her once this mess is all over."

Room Two was on the far end of the balcony, with a lavish table set up outside the door laden with all manner of fruits, pastries, and other delicacies. She felt her stomach grumble loudly at the scent and knew the rest of the group had to be just as tired, hungry, and sore as she was. But they had more important things to attend to than stuffing their faces. That could come later, after Merrill was safe.

Varric hooked his thumbs into his belt, looking up at the door to Room Two. His wide face pulled down in a grimace and he narrowed his eyes at the thick wooden surface "She's in there, you know."

"Yeah."

"And she probably has someone in there with her."

"Judging from the overpowering smell of expensive perfume and lotion," Hawke said, sniffing the air, "she probably has _several_ someones in there with her."

"You really want to go barging down the door? You know she never lets her knives out of arm's reach."

Hawke smirked at her dwarven friend. "She'll probably be aiming at a human's chest level. The knife will sail right over your head. And if it doesn't, I'll project a barrier to stop it from trimming your precious chest hair."

"You'd use magic in public just for me? Aw, that's sweet of you."

She rested her hands on her hips. "Just open the damn door already."

Hawke noticed Leliana take a subtle step back, resting her hands on her hips – close to her poorly-concealed belt of throwing knives – just in case things went as Varric had suggested. A wise precaution; Isabela had many enemies in Kirkwall, and seemed to run afoul of someone new every week. Hawke would be more surprised if something _didn't _get thrown at them in the next five minutes.

"Here goes nothing." Varric reached up and rapped his knuckles against the door. He winced and stepped back, as if he half-expected a knife to plunge through the wood. When nothing happened, he opened an eye and called out, "Isabela? You in there? We need to talk."

There was the sounds of a scuffle from inside, followed by a chorus of hushed giggles and shushing. Then Isabela's unmistakable – yet muffled – Rivaini drawl replied, "_Varric, sweetie, I'm a bit busy. Come back in an hour. Or two._"

More giggles. Hawke folded her arms and shook her head, staring at her boots while waiting.

"Maker," Leliana said with a smirk. "She must have at least three other people in there."

"Probably more," Hawke sighed. "Like I said, she enjoys this kind of thing."

Varric knocked on the door again and said, "Normally I'd indulge you, Rivaini, but we're on a bit of a schedule."

"_So am I._" More giggles. "_These delightful specimens charge by the hour, you know._"

Varric hooked his fingers into his belt, tapping one foot impatiently. "Daisy is in trouble. We're looking for her and we need to know if and where you saw her last."

Finally there was silence on the other side of the door. Then Hawke heard Isabela murmur something in what sounded like Antivan. This was followed by several disappointed groans and the sound of rustling clothes.

"_All right,_" Isabela's voice pouted. "_Let me say goodbye to my friends…"_

Varric stepped back as the door creaked open and a young man slunk out, a sheet wrapped around his slender waist to maintain some semblance of modesty. After him followed a blushing young woman, also wrapped in a sheet. Following close on her heels was an elven woman with long blond hair, who hadn't even bothered to cover up. She smiled at Leliana as she passed, while the bard stepped out of the way to let her pass. Finally, out tiptoed a bearded man who apparently had drawn the short stick and got to wrap himself in a window curtain.

"Reminds me of those Orlesian clowns," Varric said, watching the posse head downstairs. "The way they all come swarming out of those tiny carriages. You think she's got any more in there?"

"Probably," Hawke said. "But we don't have time to play any more games with her. Let's go."

The room inside was sweltering, thanks to the roaring fire in the hearth. Isabela probably missed the heat of her homeland and sought to recreate a little bit of Rivain in Kirkwall. The bedroom itself was decadently furbished, with deep red carpeting, drapes, and a massive Orlesian-style bed piled high with pillows. There were at least three tables piled high with food and wine, and there were several empty bottles scattered around the bed already. The cloying scent of perfume seemed to saturate everything, and not even the missing window drape – now turned into makeshift smallclothes – allowed enough ambient light inside to change the warm, seductive glow of many scented candles.

Isabela herself was lying on the bed, another elven woman curled happily against her side. Her arm was around the woman's shoulders while she inspected the fingernails of her other hand absently. Thankfully, she was somewhat covered by the bedclothes; one less embarrassing conversation for Hawke, then.

The pirate queen fixed her sharp amber gaze on the newcomers. "You know how little I enjoy being interrupted while relaxing, Varric."

"Trust me, Rivaini," Varric sighed, "we didn't want to interrupt you. But we had no choice."

"You said Merrill was in danger?"

"She disappeared after a cave-in in a lyrium mine on Sundermount," Hawke explained. "She… may have been under the influence of a demon. She brought the roof down on top of us. Almost killed Anders, Varric and me. We haven't seen her since."

Isabela sat bolt-upright on the bed. "She _what_?"

She quickly shooed the elven woman away, ignoring the pouting look the prostitute gave her. "Away with you, sweet thing. We can finish this later."

With seemingly no sense of modesty, the piratess hopped out of bed and began pulling on her smallclothes. Hawke made sure to keep her gaze fixed on Isabela's face as the Rivaini said, "_That_ explains why she looked like she'd gone toe-to-toe with an ogre."

She glared at Hawke. "She really tried to kill you?"

"Would we really lie about something like this?"

"Shit. All right, so you're telling the truth. Damn it, why didn't I _notice _something? I _knew_ something was fishy about the way she was behaving."

"She was possessed by a demon," Varric said, folding his arms. "They're sneaky."

"Fuck _sneaky_," Isabela spat, pulling on her thigh-high leather boots. "Kitten's my _friend. _I should have noticed something."

"We still have time to help her," Hawke said. "We think the demon doesn't have complete control yet. If we can find her, we could potentially reverse this."

"And just how do you intend to do that? What's your plan?"

"Find Merrill, subdue her, and get her to Anders. Before he left us, he told us he had a way to restrain her so she couldn't do more damage to herself and others. We're going to get her to the clinic, then plan from there."

"Does he know how to reverse it?"

Hawke grimaced. "Not really, no."

Isabela pulled her white cloth jerkin down over her head. "Well bollocks. When I saw her, Merrill said…"

While tying her bandana around her head, Isabela's gaze fell on Leliana lurking in the shadows behind Hawke's shoulder. As soon as she saw the redhead, a steely glint settled in her eyes, her jaw tightening dangerously. Hawke sensed something was going to go wrong a half-second before it did.

The next moment Isabela's arm erupted in a blur and Leliana was suddenly pinned to the wall by a hand-length dagger in her collar. The bard cried out in surprise as a second dagger followed, digging into her sleeve and trapping that against the wall. Two more daggers pinned each of her knees, effectively immobilizing her.

Hawke quickly stepped between the two as Isabela was drawing back to throw another knife. "'Bela! What the hell are you _doing_?!"

Isabela snatched up her treasured dueling blades from the ground and shoved Hawke aside. "Get behind me, Marian."

She swiftly stepped forward and shoved her dagger under Leliana's chin. "Fancy seeing you here, _Lady Nightingale_."

All the color drained out of Leliana's face and she quickly began to struggle against the knives pinning her to the wall. "Let me go!"

Varric grabbed Isabela's wrist and yanked her away. Isabela took a step back, but kept the tip of the dagger pressed against the bard's jugular. Varric fixed the piratess with a scowl and said, "Mind explaining yourself, Rivaini?"

"Leliana's a friend," Marian explained, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible. Isabela was hotheaded as it was, and the last thing the needed was to antagonize her more. "She's helping us find Merrill."

Isabela glanced between Hawke and the dwarf and let out a disbelieving laugh. "Are you _serious?_ You think this woman is a friend?"

Leliana grimaced, tugging against the knife in her collar. "Don't… don't listen to her."

Isabela turned back and glared at the redhead. "This woman was on the boat from Starkhaven. She's with the Chantry. A mage-hunter. Here to root out blood mages who have ducked out of the Chantry's sights."

Varric scoffed. "She's a bloody _Templar_?"

Isabela shook her head, her eyes never leaving Leliana's cold blue gaze. "No. She's something else. Something _much_ more dangerous."

She spun to stare at Hawke. "This woman is here to _kill_ you, Marian. She's been manipulating you from the start! If you give her an inch to wriggle free, she'll cut your throat and leave you to bleed out in a Darktown alley."

"Let me down from here right now," Leliana hissed. "And I-"

"-will do what?" Hawke interrupted. She lit a Fireball spell in each hand, watching the flickering orange light spill over the blood-red carpeting. If unleashed, the twin spells would blast the entire wall apart, taking Lady Nightingale with it. "Will you show mercy? Kill me quickly? Or just turn me over so the Templars can make me Tranquil instead of executing me?"

"I-"

Hawke stepped closer, feeling the warm fire licking up and down her arms. The temptation to use the magic was overwhelming, but she kept her fury in check. For now.

"I _trusted_ you!" she shouted. "I treated you like a bloody _friend_, Leliana! And this is how you repay that? This entire time, you were _using_ me. To lead you to more apostates, I'm guessing?"

Varric, meanwhile, had drawn Bianca from over his shoulder and was aiming the crossbow straight at Leliana's forehead. He slowly stepped to the side, giving him a shot clear of Isabela and Marian. "Give me one good reason why Bianca shouldn't plant a bolt right between your eyes right now. Because she _really_ wants to."

Leliana yanked at her restraints once again, but the point of Isabela's dagger drew blood now and she fell still. Hawke saw with no small amount of satisfaction that her cerulean blue eyes burned with equal parts fury and fear. The redhead licked her dry lips and said, "I… I have no reason. If I were in your position, I would not show you mercy."

"Funny." Isabela drew back her dagger. "You just read my mind."

"Wait," Hawke growled, and the piratess froze. Hawke took another step forward, then extinguished the fire that consumed her hands. She reached out and grabbed Leliana by the throat, pulling her forward until they were almost nose-to-nose.

"Why are you really here?" she demanded. "Helping us?"

Leliana visibly debated with herself for a time, then let out a short sigh and snapped, "I was ordered to investigate claims of apostasy and blood magic in Kirkwall. I was given a list of names over a hundred strong; men and women who were suspected of committing evil deeds beyond the grasp of the Chantry."

Hawke backed away as Leliana jerked her head at her, staring at the mage's boots. "Of all the names on the list, yours was the most familiar. And your recent success in the Deep Roads made you a ripe source for gossip in certain circles. You were simply the easiest to track down."

"And pretending to help us? Where did that fit in to your plan?"

"I saw an opportunity and took it," the bard said. "One expects a knife to strike from the front or back, but never from the side. It was the best way to convince you to let your guard down."

"Well I've heard about all I want to hear," Varric growled. "Just say the word, Hawke."

The mage stared at the bard, grey eyes narrowed. She regarded the Nightingale coldly, folding her arms across her chest. The bard didn't look away, regarding at her with that same burning blue stare. It reminded Hawke of a caged panther, ready to strike at a moment's notice. She knew with certainty that if she were free, Leliana would immediately flee, most likely after attempting to kill them all.

"I should kill you," she finally said.

The fury in Leliana's gaze didn't die. "I know."

"You know I _want_ to kill you."

"I know."

"You know that if I were to kill you, I would be completely and utterly justified."

Hawke sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose with one hand. She stayed this way for some time. She knew that Leliana was troublesome, and that given the chance she would probably still attempt to fulfill her mission. She knew that if Leliana learned that Merrill was in fact a blood mage, their problems would only multiply. The fact was, the bard was just too dangerous to be left alive.

So she looked up and shook her head. "I don't know why I accepted your help in the first place, Leliana. We can do this on our own. We don't need you."

She sighed. "Kill her."

Isabela grinned and prepared to strike, but Leliana cried out, "Wait! Wait!"

Hawke didn't know why the bard's plea struck her as it did. There was real fear in Leliana's voice now, but there was also something else driving the cry for mercy, something desperate and panicked that went beyond the drive for self-preservation. So Hawke held up a hand and said, "Hold on."

Isabela's shoulders slumped. "Andraste's tits, Hawke, are you going to let me have my fun or not?"

Hawke ignored her. "You have something more to say, Sister. So say it."

Leliana had squeezed her eyes shut as Isabela's dagger descended. Now she ever-so-slowly opened them again, as if half-expecting this to be some cruel trick. When she was satisfied that they wouldn't kill her for the moment, she let out a short breath and said, "Your friend… I may know a way to reverse her condition."

"Oh really?"

"Yes. Some time ago, I was traveling with a band in Ferelden. We encountered a child who had become possessed by a desire demon. The child exhibited behavior very similar to your friend; erratic behavior, a predisposition toward harming others…"

"And how did you stop it?"

Leliana glared at Hawke. "Do you take me for a fool? If I tell you now, you will simply kill me and use my information anyway."

"Doesn't take a fool to see that," Varric said. "Still, you don't really have many bargaining chips left, Songbird."

"Release me," Leliana said. "Grant me my life and I will help you subdue your friend. Once she is safe, I will tell you how to help her."

"And why in the hell should I trust you again?" Hawke said. "What's to stop you from trying to kill me again?"

Leliana fidgeted. "I… give you my word."

She obviously knew it was a weak argument, and she grimaced as Isabela let out a swift bark of laughter. "We don't need her, Hawke. Let's get her out of our hair so we can get Kitten back to normal."

"Please Hawke," Leliana said. She ignored the others, holding Hawke's gaze. "I know I can no longer be trusted, but I swear to you that I will not attempt to kill you or those close to you. My plan is revealed, and trying to kill you now that you know of my intentions would be nothing short of suicide."

"You'll find no arguments here."

Leliana forged on, undeterred. "I promise you that I will help you save Merrill, and then you never have to see me again. Just release me, and let us move before it is too late."

Icy turmoil roiled in Hawke's gut. She didn't think Leliana was lying now, but then she hadn't exactly been on the mark when gauging her loyalty before. But if she knew a way to help Merrill, could she really pass it up? If she was the one possessed, she would want her friends to do everything in their power to help her. Even if that meant teaming up with a dangerously Templar-like Orlesian.

"Isabela," she finally said. "Take her daggers. And her bow."

The piratess sighed. "Hawke, sweet thing, you're making a _massive_ mistake."

"Noted. Now disarm her and make sure she isn't carrying anything concealed. I'm sure you know all the usual hiding spots."

"Aye-aye," the rogue said, sheathing her daggers and stepping forward to remove Leliana's armaments. She leaned close to the bard and Leliana fidgeted as her weapons were removed. Isabela scowled. "Just try something, Red. I dare you."

Varric, meanwhile, pulled Hawke aside after hooking Bianca over his shoulder again. "Are you sure about this, Hawke? I mean, sure you two used to know each other, but-"

"If what she says is true," Hawke said, making sure to keep her voice down, "then she could be our only ticket to freeing Merrill. If she pulls anything, we can kill her. Like she said, we know her true colors now. It would be stupid to try something with all our suspicions raised."

She glanced at the bard, watching as Isabela pulled a hidden stiletto blade from her boot. "She'll behave herself and we'll get Merrill back. And afterwards, she'll get out of our hair and leave us alone."

"And how can you be sure she won't just run off and call the Templars once this mess is finished?"

"Did you see how I grabbed her throat?" Hawke said. "That wasn't just for show. I placed a locator hex on her. If she goes anywhere near Templars, I'll know it."

Varric sighed and scratched at his beard. "Well, I guess you've gotten us this far without killing us. What's one more death-defying risk?"

She put a hand on his shoulder. "It'll be all right, Varric. You'll see."

They turned back just as Isabela was wrenching her throwing knives out of the wall, freeing Leliana. The woman rubbed at her sore wrist, which looked like it had been grazed by the projectile blade, and said, "You have my thanks, Marian. You won't-"

Hawke interrupted her. "You're on a very short leash, Lady Nightingale. Make sure you know that the slightest wrong move and we'll probably all kill you at once. It's nice and efficient that way."

Isabela pointed to Leliana's boots with a grim smile. "A dagger to the knees to keep you from running, then a fireball to the chest to knock you off your feet, then a crossbow bolt to the forehead just to be sure. You won't know what hit you."

Leliana glared at the dark-skinned woman. "Yes. I understood perfectly."

"Make sure you do," Hawke said with one last glare. Convinced the bard knew her place, she finally turned her attention back to Isabela. "All right. You said you saw Merrill. What did she say?"

Isabela leaned against a nearby table, folding her arms and cocking her head. "She was acting all fidgety. Nervous, and more than usual. Kept asking for _him_, looking for where _he_ was hiding."

"And who is _he?_"

"Get this," Isabela said, quirking up a single, elegant eyebrow. "She was looking for _Fenris_. Wanted to know where he was, even though she knows bloody well where his creepy, empty mansion sits. As soon as I told her, she scampered off like she had something important to tell him."

"What would a demon want with Fenris?" Varric said, frowning.

"I don't know," Hawke replied, "but whatever it is, it can't be good. We need to find Fenris before she does."

"She looked more lost than usual," Isabela said. "She probably got lost on her way there. If we hurry, we can probably make it before her. Lay things out before they get nasty."

"You're suggesting we trap her?"

"It could work. The demon probably doesn't know you and the others survived," Isabela pointed out. "She won't be expecting an attack. Care to chip in, Sister? Sounds like this is right up your alley."

Leliana scowled and said, "It is a sound plan, but only if we hurry."

Hawke nodded. "Then let's go before something else happens."

They quickly made their way back outside and down the stairs. As they passed Madame Lusine, Varric flipped her another sovereign.

"Things got a little rough," he said. "Sorry about the mess."

* * *

**Kirkwall (Present)**

"I must admit, Leliana, I am surprised the pirate managed to subdue you so easily." There was a rare note of humor in Cassandra's voice.

Leliana blushed. "I was not expecting to see the Rivaini again so soon. It… took me by surprise."

Varric smirked, folding one leg over the other as he leaned back in his chair. "You know, Hawke may have forgiven you for scheming to kill her, but I don't think Rivaini ever did."

Leliana snorted. "She never gave me back that stiletto blade either."

"_That_, my dear Songbird, is just normal Isabela."

"Enough," Cassandra interjected. "I want to know what happened next. Leliana said she had a plan. What was it?"

Varric smiled. "It was a good plan all right. It put us right on a collision course with Validation. But it also would never have been possible without help from a _very_ special friend Merrill met in the Fade."

"Spare me your theatrics, Varric," Cassandra scowled. "Speak plainly. Last time, you said she met Anders in the Fade. Was it truly him?"

Varic's smirk widened. "In a manner of speaking…"

* * *

_Author's Note: A lot of people have been commenting and observing that Leliana is kind of... well, kind of a bitch. Hopefully this chapter sheds a little more light on exactly why, as well as sets the stage for some progression back to her old self._

_A new chapter is already in the works. As always, comments and reviews are very much appreciated. Until next time!_


	16. I am Victory

**The Fade**

Merrill walked through the halls of the ruined fortress, wringing her hands as she watched spirits and demons of all types fix her with suspicious glares when she passed. Her footsteps echoed loudly through the cold stone hallways, no other sounds to drown out her own ringing footfalls; spirit feet did not make noise.

"_This place was not meant for you_," said her guide as he led her deeper into the ruin. Blue flame continued to lick at his arms and chest, casting flickering blue-white light across the walls. "_But as long as you remain under this roof, you will come to no harm. I will ensure the others do not grow too… overzealous in their dislike of you."_

"Thank you, Justice," Merrill said. It was a relief, at least, that she wouldn't be killed in her sleep while she stayed among these beings. What even happened to a mortal if they died in the Beyond? Merrill had always been told that she would go to the Beyond when she died, to be with the Creators. Would she just come back? Or would she simply cease to exist? She didn't particularly want to think about it.

She pushed such thoughts away with no small amount of difficulty. "Does Anders know you're here?"

"_I am always here_," Justice replied. "_I have made this place my home, protecting it from Validation's evil and offering it as sanctuary from those who seek to flee her realm. It is a haven for all comers, mortal trespassers included."_

"You… you know what happened on Sundermount?"

He nodded, blazing eyes fixed resolutely forward. "_I do. I attempted to warn Anders as you entered, to tell him that the Fade was weak there, that Validation sought to leave this realm. But he pushed me away, ignoring my attempts to warn him of impending disaster."_

He gestured to the fortress around them. "_We all felt the Fade rip open, the side-effect of your magical outburst in the cave. Many spirits were frightened by the disturbance and sought shelter here."_

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"_Intention is irrelevant,"_ Justice interrupted. "_The Fade is breached, and your body is now in the hands of a powerful demon of pride."_

"That sloth demon said you could help me. Was he telling the truth?"

"_Perhaps,_" Justice said. "_But I cannot help you alone. I am merely a guardian of the innocents fleeing from Validation's wrath. Thankfully, there is one who has fought Validation for eons. She arrived soon after you and your demon friend."_

Merrill glanced over her shoulder; she'd felt like she was being watched ever since entering the fort. She had never seen so many spirits in one place before. In her explorations of the Beyond, as thorough as she thought they had been, she had only ever encountered solitary spirits or demons or maybe two if she was lucky. Yet in this place wraiths, spirits, demons, and all manner of oddities crowded together and stared at her with cold, glowing gazes, lurking around every corner and behind every door. She knew she should be polite to them all, as even demons were of a conflicted and complex nature, but she found it difficult to know how to react to them all. She nervously waved to a tight cluster of ghostlike wraiths, then shuddered when the misty figures simply stared back at her.

"Just how many spirits are here?"

"_Many sought to flee Validation, yet lacked the motivation to do so,_" Justice said. "_With the Fade breached, many saw it as the excuse they were long seeking."_

Merrill bit her lip. "If the Fade is breached… does that mean more demons could escape and possess people? Like Validation did?"

"_Fortunately, in her haste to kill your allies Validation brought the cave roof down upon them. Doing so buried the rift, preventing more demons from escaping."_

Merrill's blood ran cold. "She… she caved in the roof? B-but was everyone okay?"

The sight forced its way into her mind's eye; images of Marian, Varric, and Anders lying broken and dead under a sea of rubble that Merrill herself had brought down upon them. She was terrified by the thought, but Justice quickly allayed such fears.

"_Do not fear._ _Your friends survived the ordeal, mortal,"_ he said. "_Even now, they seek to reverse your condition and drive Validation from your mind."_

"Is that even possible?" She knew if there was a way, Hawke wouldn't rest until she found it. But what if she was trapped here forever? What if there was no way to reverse Validation's control over her?

"_I do not know,_" Justice said. "_Your case is a special one. Validation emerged from the Fade rift to possess you, but did not choose to emerge in full physical form, as is typical with such instances. Instead, she used some form of magic to… fragment herself. Part of her remains here, in the Fade, and part of her resides within your mortal body."_

"That's not normal," Merrill said. "Why would she do that?"

"_I do not know. Perhaps she does not wish to relinquish control over this area of the Fade. Perhaps something went wrong. But I have reached out to one who knows of such things, and will know how to defeat her."_

He pushed open a set of huge double doors that led out onto a wide balcony overlooking the Fade. In the distance Merrill could see dark towers of obsidian stretching up into the cloudy green sky, rising out of mountains of rubble and what looked like the ruins of an ancient fortress. Dark clouds swirled around a tall central tower, sporadically sending forks of purple-white lightning arcing down to the ground. Surrounding the tower was a sea of black water, roiling and churning around the ruin.

"_That,_" Justice said, pointing to the tower, "_is where we will find Validation."_

"T-there? It's a fortress!"

"_An ancient stronghold of demons who sought to conquer the Fade for themselves. They soon learned that the Fade cannot be forced under a single rule and abandoned such claims. But the legacy of their defiance remains, and Validation has claimed it for her own."_

He pointed to the courtyard and the giant, twisted statue that stood there. "_This place was the counterpoint; the last bastion of those who sought to preserve the Fade and protect those who dwelt within. Like Validation's castle, it was similarly destroyed by the aftermath of such conflict."_

"What happened?" Merrill said, looking around at the ruins of the fort. She couldn't begin to imagine what kind of power could level such a once-magnificent place. A massive explosion must have occurred to bring two castles to ruin.

"_The Fade showed its displeasure,"_ Justice said. "_As the two armies clashed for the final time, a great cataclysm befell this area. The ground shook and trembled, cracking open and creating the ravines through which you traveled before. The sky roiled and rained fire, obliterating both armies in a span of moments. And the air itself turned to lightning, tearing apart the two strongholds of those who would dare to enforce their will upon the great Formlessness that is the Fade_."

"What do you mean? The Beyond itself is alive?"

Justice only stared at her. "_After all you have seen and experienced, mortal, you cannot truly believe that these worlds are created only by what you assume to know? There are worlds beyond Thedas and the Fade, little one. In their arrogance, these two armies drew the attention of a power beyond even their imagining. Its displeasure destroyed them."_

Merrill shivered. She didn't want to know any more about these lost armies and ancient battles. The Beyond was frightening enough as it is, and another layer of mystery only made it all the more terrifying. "So… what's your plan? To get me out of here, I mean."

He turned to her, fixing her with a dead stare from his smoldering blue eyes. "_I have no plan. I will assist however I can, but your salvation lies in the hands of another._"

"But who?"

"_Me_," came a new voice. This voice was smooth and female, with a soft Ferelden accent.

Merrill turned to face the speaker and her heart instantly stopped. It was a woman. A very familiar elven woman.

She had olive-colored skin and shoulder-length black hair tucked behind her shoulders. A graceful series of soft swooping tattoos covered her face, twisting across her forehead, down her cheeks, and across her chin. It was a _vallaslin, _dedicated to June the craftmaster; a tattoo as familiar as the woman who wore it. She was wearing dark blue battle armor emblazoned with an engraved griffin with spread wings across the chest piece. An angular bow was slung over her shoulder, with a quiver of barbed arrows slung across her back.

In an instant, everything ceased to exist. Merrill no longer thought of demons or the Beyond or her own uncertain fate. She had eyes only for this new woman and the beauty she seemed to radiate with each passing breath. Merrill forgot herself; she ran to the woman, threw her arms around her, and hugged her close within a span of moments.

"_Ma lethallin!" _she cried._ "Aneth ara!"_ She pulled back and cupped the woman's tattooed cheeks, tears of joy welling in her eyes. "Lyna! Lyna, it's so good to see you! What are you _doing_ here?"

She laughed and hugged her again. "Where have you _been? _Oh, you must tell me all about it! _Everything_!"

But Lyna pushed her back, holding her at arm's length. Her voice was cold and stern as she said, "_Calm yourself_, da'len. _I am not as you think."_

Merrill's smile slowly faded. Lyna's voice was speaking both in the physical world and in her mind, just like Justice. As Merrill finally took a moment to truly look at her, she saw that purple-white lightning blazed in Lyna's eyes and crackled along her arms and over her chest. There was a coldness in that gaze that made Merrill sick to her stomach, especially when she remembered the warm blue that used to hold their place.

She shrank away. This was not Lyna Mahariel. It was something else. Something _wrong_. "What… what are you?"

Lyna spread her arms wide. "_I am Enasalin: spirit of victory. I am here at Justice's behest."_

_"__She is the one who will help you,"_ Justice supplied from behind them. "_She is no friend of Validation, mortal, and will be the key to securing you passage back to your own realm."_

"But… but you look just like Lyna," Merrill said, her voice small and afraid. "Why do you look like her?"

"_We spirits of the Fade can see into your realm_," Victory said. "_And sometimes, once in an eon, someone appears that… changes things. And sometimes, we spirits are changed to reflect these individuals."_

"But why do you look like _Lyna? _Did you meet her? Is she all right?"

"_I spied your Lyna some time ago, standing before a vast army of nations, leading them to glory and triumph even in the face of great evil. In her heart boiled certainty, clarity of purpose, and – most of all – belief in her impending victory. I saw her amid all these emotions and was drawn to her. In that moment, I was changed forever."_

"And the real Lyna?" Merrill's heart skipped a beat. Did this Victory spirit know what had happened to her? Merrill hadn't seen her since that Grey Warden had spirited her away, seemingly a lifetime ago. If she saw Lyna once, could she see her again? "What happened to her?"

Victory stared at her with that glowing purple gaze. "_She is… beyond my sight. I have no answers for you_. _I am sorry."_

Justice stepped forward as blue fire enveloped his shoulders. "_We must focus on the matter at hand. This mortal is trapped here, and her only means of escape lie in Validation's fortress. Every moment we delay here gives Validation more time to set defenses against us."_

Victory nodded, walking out to the railing that stretched around the balcony and placing her hands on the chipped and worn surface. She stared out at the twisted and ruined castle in the distance. "_Her stronghold is a puzzle that has vexed me for too long. But now, I believe we have the means to destroy both it and its master."_

"What do you mean?" Merrill said, following close behind the spirit.

Victory turned to face her, crossing her lightning-infused arms over her chest. "_You, _da'len_. You are the key to destroying Validation, once and for all."_

Merrill's heart dropped into her stomach and she was sure all the color drained from her face. "_Me?_ No, no, this isn't something I do. Saving the day is what _Hawke_ does. I just stay behind and try not to get in the way."

Victory narrowed her blazing purple eyes. "_That was the past. You are the only one who can stop Validation. Many before you have tried. You, _da'len, _will succeed."_

She gestured to the Beyond around them; to the distant castle, the winding ravines of green-black stone, and the ruined fort in which they now stood. "_This domain was once home to many like me. Spirits of Valor, Mercy, Fortitude, and Courage. Now they are all gone, fallen prey to Validation's insidious ways and transformed into demonic reflections of their former selves. I seek to halt the spread of her influence, and you can do that."_

"But how? How can I stop her?" Merrill looked at her feet. "I could barely stop those dwarves that attacked us in the caverns. The best I could do was keep pushing up stone pillars to keep them away."

She wrung her hands desperately. "Neither of you understand. I'm not some kind of warrior or savior. I'm… I'm a nobody. I like to _read_, not fight. If Hawke was here, or Varric or Isabela, things would be different, but-"

"_But Hawke is not here," _Justice interrupted. "_You are. So you are who we shall use."_

"But-"

Victory glared at the other spirit. "_What Justice is trying to say is that Validation is weak only to your power. When she fragmented herself to possess you, she tied herself to your mind as well as your body. Now that she is thoroughly embedded in both, you are the only one that can effectively remove her."_

Victory put a hand on Merrill's shoulder. Merrill shivered at the gentle touch of the spirit's calloused fingers, feeling lightning dance along her skin at the slight contact. "_You may not be a fighter or a great hero. But you can be, _da'len. _And with our help, you will be. You simply have to trust me._"

She glanced between Victory and Justice, who was standing behind her with his bright blue flaming arms folded across his chest. She stared at Lyna – no, _Victory_ was her name – and watched lightning dance along the spirit's fingertips. And she wondered what Hawke would do in the same situation, what Varric would say, how Isabela would laugh at how ridiculous it all sounded. How Anders would sigh in exasperation, Fenris would sulk, Sebastian would relate it to some story about the human's Maker, and Carver would rant and rave about how unfair it all was. But no matter who she thought of, she knew that their answers would all be the same.

So she screwed up her face in the bravest expression she could muster, clenching her fists and tightening her jaw, and repeated their answer to the spirit standing before her.

"What do you need me to do?"

* * *

_Author's Note: I'm going to try and work on both _Isolation_ and _Shadows Within _at the same time for the time being. It's going to be tough, but each chapter usually runs around six pages. Twelve pages a week isn't too bad, so I'm going to try and keep it up as best I can. I'm not losing the momentum I've built on either story, and I'm as eager as all of you guys to see where these stories go. :D_

_As always, reviews are always appreciated. And until next time, happy reading!_


	17. Finding Fenris

**Black Lake, the Fade**

The boat sliced quietly through the dark water of the aptly-named Black Lake, the deck bobbing up and down in the choppy waves. Merrill clasped her hands tightly in her lap, eyes fixed resolutely on her sandals. She had seen dark shapes shifting and undulating just under the water, so had decided to keep her eyes fixed on the boat as long as she could.

The tall floating spires of rock and ruined towers that made up Validation's fortress were growing ever closer. Merrill could see lights burning in the tower's many windows, and shadows passing back and forth in front of the lights. A deep rumble began to shake the air, growing stronger the closer they got to the shoreline. Merrill could feel it build in the pit of her stomach, leaving a strange weightless sensation like she had just jumped off something tall.

Victory sat across from her, staring at her with that disconcerting purple-white gaze while Justice took the rudder. Merrill had taken great care to avoid the spirit's gaze since meeting her. It was too disconcerting to look into the eyes of her oldest friend and see only crackling purple-white lightning. To her, Victory was not some strange, unearthly spirit. Physically, she was Lyna plain and simple; yet with every word the spirit spoke, Merrill grew more and more uncomfortable in her presence.

Validation had also used Lyna's form, to tantalize Merrill into believing she was safe and loved once again. That illusion had been shattered, but Merrill would not be foolish enough to make the same mistake twice. And while Victory had shown her no ill will, she was still little more than a parasitic mimic of the woman Lyna was. She had seen Lyna, seen the bravery and fortitude Merrill knew the woman possessed, and imitated it for herself. That didn't make her Lyna. It didn't make her a fraction of the woman Lyna was.

Yet her information about the dalish hunter was too tantalizing to pass up. Victory had claimed that she had witnessed Lyna standing victorious before a vast army, sword raised high in triumph. Was that what she had done after leaving the clan? After the Grey Warden had spirited her away, Merrill and her people had moved on, fleeing from the Darkspawn before eventually settling outside of Kirkwall. She had heard no word from Lyna since that fateful day the _shem_ who called himself Duncan had led her out of the forest and into the unknown.

Had she gone on to claim great riches and glory? Was she still fighting to this day? Victory had no answers for her, and her stubborn silence only made Merrill dislike her more.

_Maybe_, she thought, _after all this is done, I can find Lyna again. If she did go on to be some big hero, it shouldn't be difficult to find her. And I'm sure Hawke would help me._

Hawke… what was she doing right now? Frantically searching for a way to reverse this possession? Or was she already dead, having fallen prey to Validation's schemes just as easily as Merrill had? It warmed her heart a little to think of the former, to imagine Hawke working tirelessly to ensure her safety. It was a comfort to know that there were people watching over her, even in this dark and frightful place.

"What's taking so long?" she finally whispered with a shiver. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap. "This place is scary."

"_We are almost there_," Justice said from behind her. "_The others will meet us on the shore._"

Victory drew Merrill's attention. The little elf once again pointedly avoided her gaze. "_You know what you are to do, _da'len_?"_

_I don't like it when she calls me that,_ she decided. _She is not one of the People. She has no right to use our tongue._

But, not wanting to anger the spirit, she simply nodded. "The other spirits are going to attack the tower, drawing Validation's attention. They'll draw her attention away from us. Then you, Justice, and I will infiltrate the tower under the cover of the attack, find Validation, and kill her. Then Justice will attempt to get a message to Anders about all this so Hawke can kill the part of Validation that's still in my body."

She fidgeted. "And are you sure that Hawke won't… you know, accidentally kill _me_? How can she only get at Validation?"

Victory glanced over her shoulder at the dark coastline of the tower, which was drawing closer by the minute. "_Hawke's challenge will be merely to subdue you in your plane of existence. If we can manage to destroy Validation's hold on this place, she will be forced out of the Fade without any prompting from them. You will regain control of your body and then help your friends to kill the beast she has become."_

"Just like that? We kill her here and I get everything back?"

Justice cleared his throat. "_Provided she has not solidified control over you. If she has gained full possession of your body, killing her here will only strengthen her in your mortal world. Your Hawke would be put in quite considerable risk."_

"I-is there some way to tell whether she's in total control?"

"_No."_

"Then why-"

Victory had anticipated her question._ "Because we have no choice. If left unchecked, Validation's control over the Fade will spread, until all who call this place home are under her sway. They will become demons, slaves to baser desires and harbingers to Validation's own darkness. She hungers for control, for dominance and power."_

"And why do you keep saying I'm the only one who can stop her?"

Victory crossed her arms. "_In attaching herself to you, Validation created a powerful psychic link, binding the two of you together in a parasitic symbiosis. She is leeching strength and power from you, and any attempt from a spirit to kill her is doomed to fail; she will simply retreat back into your psyche and regain power through that link. But if _you_ kill her, you will sever that bond, forcing her away from your mind and into your realm."_

_"The fragment of her in the Fade will cease to exist_," Justice said, "_and in her weakened state, you will have an opening to reclaim your body. You can then assist your allies in destroying the real Validation in your world."_

"And… and you're sure I can do this?"

"_I am._ _I have faith in you, Merrill."_

Hearing the words coming from Lyna made Merrill's heart flutter, at least until she remembered it wasn't her oldest friend speaking those words. The similarities were just too strong; she looked the same, sounded the same, and – if the scent of pine needles and fresh rain was any indication – she even smelled the same. But… she wasn't Lyna, and she never would be Lyna. Her friend was gone, lost somewhere in the vast emptiness of the world, and not even this terrible place could bring her back.

She forcibly pushed such thoughts aside. "Will you help me? I'm not sure I can fight Validation all on my own. I tried – when she first put me here, I mean – and she batted me about like a child's play toy."

Victory nodded. _"I will guide you every step of the way, _da'len_. And when the time comes, you will not have to face down Validation's darkness alone_."

"All right… thank you, Victory."

The woman merely inclined her head in acknowledgement.

Justice spoke from behind them. "_We are almost there_."

* * *

**Hightown, Kirkwall**

"Thank you for coming, Aveline."

The guardswoman scowled, hefting her shield more securely over her shoulder. "If what you say about Merrill is true, you'll need more than Varric and some Orlesian assassin to bring her in safely."

"You forgot about me, sweet thing," Isabela chimed in from behind her.

"I didn't forget," Aveline said. "I'm just not convinced you're sober enough to hold your daggers straight. For all I know, you'll pass out in an alley as soon as the fighting starts."

"I don't need to be sober to fight, big girl. You should try drunken brawling sometime. It's quite a kick."

"The point is," Aveline said, "the guard is trained to _save_ lives, not end them. If there's a way to bring Merrill in safely, I'll find it."

"And what of your duty to the guard?" Leliana asked. "Are you not obligated to arrest Merrill if she has committed crimes?"

"People commit crimes in this city all the time. If we focused on every criminal in Kirkwall, the prisons would overflow. Besides, if what you say is true, Merrill is no longer under control of her own actions. I can make a case for temporary insanity."

"Seriously?" Hawke said. "You're going to take this to court, after all that's happened?"

Aveline glared at her. "You know me better than that, Hawke. Merrill herself is innocent of whatever crimes she's committed in the past few days. As long as we can banish and kill the demon that controls her, I'll be a happy woman and the guard will have served its purpose."

"Your loyalty to your friends is commendable," Leliana murmured from behind them. "Hawke is lucky to have an ally such as you."

Aveline chuckled drily, resting her hand on the pommel of her sword. "You hear that, Hawke? I keep telling you that you should appreciate me more."

"I do appreciate you," Hawke said with a roguish grin. "I wouldn't cause so much mischief if I didn't. Someone has to make sure you meet your monthly peace-keeping quota."

They were drawing closer to Fenris' mansion. So far, there were no signs of trouble and Aveline had claimed there was no report of a fight in this area of the city. Fenris was safe, at least for now. Regardless, Hawke was making sure to keep a close eye on the dark alleys and street corners of Hightown. Normally they were a haven for thieves and gang members, but now they could be sheltering Validation.

She couldn't' deny that she was nervous about facing down the demon. Merrill was a powerful blood mage, with abilities that could rival Hawke's own. She could bend the forces of nature to her will, hurling massive chunks of earth into enemies or trapping them in cages of electricity. With the power of her blood magic, she could sap the strength and life force of her opponents from them or corrupt their own blood to poison them from the inside. Hawke had never considered fighting the little elf, and she was more nervous than ever at the prospect of doing so now.

She felt Varric nudge her arm. When he spoke, his voice was low so the others couldn't hear. "It'll be all right, Hawke. We'll get Daisy back safe."

"I know," she said, the words sounding hollow even to her. "But what if… what if she-"

She sighed and shook her head. "Varric, I'm no good at rescue missions."

"What are you talking about?" the dwarf scoffed. "You saved that merchant's son from those giant spiders not more than a week ago!"

"I think this situation is a little more serious than giant spiders. The last time someone needed my help this badly…"

Varric could obviously see where this conversation was heading. "Was with your sister, right?"

She nodded silently. The more time they spent attempting to save Merrill, the more similar the two occurrences grew in her eye. Bethany had been caught, open and vulnerable, by a force that was beyond Hawke's power to defeat. And before Hawke could even raise a hand in defense of her sibling, that power had taken her sister up and smashed her into the ground like a toy with a rag doll.

Could the same thing be happening here now? Hawke had promised that day to never be too weak to save her family again. And Merrill was family, there was no doubt. She would die before anyone harmed the young elf. And yet there was a very good chance Merrill would die anyway.

Varric heaved a weary sigh. "What happened to Bethany wasn't your fault, Hawke."

"Wasn't it? I could have stopped that ogre. I could have blinded it with a fireball or distracted it with a misdirection hex… But I _couldn't_. I wasn't fast enough, and nothing I did so much as slowed it down. What makes this situation so different?"

"Because _we're_ here," Varric said, gesturing to himself and the others following him. "And we'll be with you every step of the way. Merrill's counting on you, on all of us. And if we don't get her out of this, who will?"

Another voice responded before Varric's could. "Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the righteous; the lights in the shadow."

Hawke's face turned down in a tight scowl. "Of all the things I want to hear right now, sister, you are not one of them."

Leliana drew closer while Aveline and Isabela continued to bicker. "Hawke-"

"You're lucky I didn't kill you outright. Who knows? I still might. So just shut up and stick to the back of the group before I decide to punch your pretty read-haired face in."

Leliana's gaze fell to the cobblestone street before them. "I… I have wronged you, Marian. I admit this. But I am with you now to whatever conclusion lies ahead. I will help you save Merrill, whatever the cost."

Hawke narrowed her eyes at the redhead. "We'll have to wait and see, won't we?"

"Connor."

"What?"

"The boy I mentioned before. The one who was possessed. His name was Connor." Leliana met Hawke's gaze again. "My party and I encountered him when we traveled to Redcliffe, seeking military support from Arl Eamon Guerrin during the Blight. When we arrived, things were… terrible. Undead had risen and attacked the town at the bidding of the demon that held Eamon's son. Connor."

"I heard about this," Varric said. "Apparently, the Hero of Ferelden killed the demon and freed the boy with the help of the Ferelden Circle, after rallying the villagers to stand up to the monsters the demon had conjured. And you were there?"

Leliana nodded once, tersely. "I was traveling with Lyna… with the Hero of Ferelden at the time. She was… a very dear friend."

"Ah, so the plot thickens," Varric said. "Anything else you're keeping from us, Songbird?"

"The Hero did not kill the demon herself. The Circle of Magi arrived and induced a trance in order to send one of our allies, an apostate by the name of Morrigan, into the Fade to deal with the demon. Morrigan killed the demon within the Fade and forced her into the real world, where the Hero and I killed it once and for all. Connor was freed, and the demon never reappeared."

Hawke stared at the sister warily. This could be another lie. It wouldn't be surprising if it was simply another attempt by the bard to coerce others into trusting her, but something about this tale seemed to ring true. And if what she said _was_ true, then they may very well have a chance to reverse Merrill's condition and save her without causing lasting damage.

She glanced at Varric, who gave a noncommittal shrug. He still looked suspicious, but he raised an eyebrow as if to say, _We don't really have a _better _plan… _

Hawke herself was still wracked with indecision. What if Leliana _wasn't _lying? What if this could work? But if the bard was only spinning tales as she had been before, trusting her now would give her an opportunity to kill Hawke and everyone she cared about, Merrill included.

"What do you think, Varric?" she eventually said. "You think this is possible?"

Varric stared at Leliana, who simply held his skeptical stare. "Dunno. It's a better lead than we've had in the past, I guess. What would we have to do in order to do this?"

"I will part with that information once we have Merrill secure. If we cannot successfully restrain her, none of it will matter."

"Fair enough," Hawke said. "We'll revisit this once Merrill is safe."

"So…"

"I still don't trust you," Hawke clarified. "Not yet. Just consider yourself on probation until we have Merrill safe."

"We're here," Aveline called. "Fenris' mansion."

They emerged into the square that housed the abandoned mansion Fenris called home. Tangled, overgrown vines covered the face of the building, snaking down the walls and over the front porch. The windows were dark, as usual, and there was graffiti painted on the building's front wall: the ancient and angular bird sign that had come to represent Kirkwall's underworld. This signified that Fenris was to be left alone by the forces of the carta and other less-than-savory figures; the elven warrior's habit of killing intruders and leaving their bodies on his front porch probably led to this prestigious position.

"I don't see Merrill- ah, Validation," Aveline said, hand tightly grasping the pommel of her sword. She shrugged her shield off her back and looped her arm through the straps. "You're sure she was headed this way?"

Isabela nodded. "She specifically asked where to find Fenris. He's not exactly one to get out and see the sights. Where else could he be?"

"Come on," Hawke said, breaking into a jog. "She may already be inside!"

* * *

With a well-placed kick, Aveline burst down the mansion's front door, stepping in with sword drawn and shield raised. Hawke came next, her staff raised and a ball of flame at the ready, crackling around the gemstone at the tip of the weapon. Leliana, still unarmed, occupied the middle of their group. Varric and Isabela were last, back-to-back with weapons drawn.

The mansion was as still, quiet, and dark as it always was. A cold draft raced through the foyer where they stood, and a long and rough-hewn drapery fluttered in the breeze. Empty booze bottles lay scattered about, evidence that Fenris' drinking problem had not improved. The stench of mold and old alcohol lay heavy on the air, clogging up Hawke's throat and making Leliana cough quietly behind her hand.

"See anyone?" Varric growled, aiming down the sights of his crossbow at the suspicious-looking drape. "This place seems… creepier than usual."

"I don't see anything," Hawke said. "Hold on. I'll cast a locator charm."

She stepped to the front of the group, raised her staff, and tapped the bladed end hard against the ground. Instantly a crackling wave of golden light raced out from the epicenter where her weapon had hit the floor, rushing off into the rest of the mansion. Hawke closed her eyes, letting the magic stretch out before racing back to her and enveloping her with a soothing sensation similar to sinking into a warm bath. When she opened her eyes again, the magic had picked out every living creature in the mansion and enveloped it in a haze of gold. Hawke could easily see the rats in the walls, the cockroaches skittering across the floor above them, and the bats roosting high in the rafters. But nowhere she looked could she see any kind of human figure that could be Fenris or Validation.

"I… I don't think he's here," she said as the magic faded. "Nothing here but animals."

"Where could he be?" Isabela said, lowering her daggers. "Do you think Validation got to him already?"

"There are no signs of struggle," Aveline said, her shield and sword still raised. She kicked at a twisted wooden beam that had fallen from the ceiling. "The place looks as deserted as it always does. Though it's so run-down, I'm not sure we'd be able to tell."

"Give me a moment," Hawke said, closing her eyes again. "I'm going to try the charm again. Maybe-"

"_Hawke_!"

She raised her staff a split second before she heard an enraged battle cry and the crash of splintering wood. Her staff shattered in her grip, carved in half by the descent of a heavy greatsword. She was thrown onto her back from the force of the blow, the two halves of her weapon clattering away. Aveline was instantly at her side, blocking the next sword blow with her shield and staggering under the descent of the blade. She shoved the attacker away and barked, "Fenris! Control yourself!"

Hawke heard a grunt of surprise and her eyes adjusted to catch the familiar sight of Fenris' stark white hair and the intricate patterns of his tattoos. The elven warrior was stepping away, driven back by Aveline's push. He glanced rapidly between them, then eventually let out a huff of breath and lowered his weapon.

"Hawke," he said, stepping forward and holding out a hand to help her up. "I apologize. Did I hurt you?"

"No," Hawke grunted, gratefully accepting his hand. "You sure did a number on my staff, though."

'I have spares," the elf growled. "Tevinter bounty hunters decided to come snooping last week. I kept their gear in hopes that I could fence them in Darktown. You're welcome to whatever you can use."

Hawke dusted herself off. "I appreciate it."

"Why are you here? Normally you enter quietly through my front door, not break it down."

"Daisy's gotten herself into trouble," Varric said, adjusting the tension in Bianca's bowstrings.

"When is she ever _not_ in trouble?"

The dwarf grimaced and lowered his crossbow. "It's… a long story. Point is, she's on her way here to kill you."

Fenris chuckled. "She's welcome to try."

"No," Hawke quickly interjected. "We're going to capture her alive."

"Why in the world would you do that? If she has betrayed us-"

"She hasn't betrayed anyone," Hawke said. "She's… not herself. She's being influenced by a very powerful pride demon called Validation. It's controlling her. Holding her captive in her own body."

"A demon?" Fenris smirked. "So she's finally succumbed to the temptations of blood magic."

Hawke could hear the _I-told-you-so_ on the elf's voice, so she quickly interjected. "Not quite. Like Varric said, it's a long story."

"I'll have to take your word for it," Fenris scowled as Hawke moved to a weapon rack along the wall. She reached out and grabbed an angular Tevinter staff with a serrated blade at one end and a steel tip forged in the shape of a twin-headed dragon at the other. She spun the staff across the back of her hand, whirling it over her head before bringing it down in a powerful slash.

"Not bad," she said. She slung the weapon across her back and turned back to her friends. "We're going to need your help, Fenris. Validation is on her way here as we speak and if you're not here to meet her, she'll disappear into the wind again."

"You plan to use me as bait?" Fenris raised an eyebrow.

"Simply put, yes. You can draw her out, allowing us to capture her."

He folded his arms. "And do I get any say in the matter? Perhaps I think we should simply leave Merrill to the fate she so clearly chose for herself."

"No," Aveline said. "If what Hawke says is true, we need all hands on deck. So grab your sword and get ready."

Fenris looked like he was going to argue. If Hawke knew the elf well – and she did – he would have a stubborn lecture already in store for them; how blood mages deserved no pity, that they were beyond redemption, and that they should leave Merrill to Validation because it was her own damn fault.

Surprisingly, though, no such lecture came. The white-haired elf simply glanced to Hawke for confirmation. Hawke nodded, partly in thanks for his understanding. "We don't have much time. Thank you, Fenris."

"You can show me to the liquor cabinet while we wait," Isabela called from the next room. She had no doubt wandered off during the commotion. "No sense going thirsty while we wait."

Hawke turned to Varric while Fenris disappeared into the main chamber of the mansion. She made sure he was out of earshot before speaking. "So when Merrill gets here," she said cautiously, "how exactly are we going to stop her without actually hurting her? It isn't like Bianca can fire blunt arrows."

Varric rubbed at the stubble on his chin. "I've been thinking about that. Daisy couldn't have picked a worse target; I don't think Fenris will go easy on her no matter how much you tell him to. The way I see it, the only way we have a chance to get Merrill back in one piece is if someone – not Fenris – manages to get her separated from the group in order to subdue her."

"Not too appealing," Aveline said, approaching with her arms folded. "A demon in Merrill's body will be extremely powerful. Not something to take lightly."

"I'll do it."

Varric sighed. "I was afraid you'd say that, Hawke."

Hawke's face was a mask of grim determination. "It's my fault this happened. If I hadn't led us down into that mine-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Varric interrupted. "Let's not forget who brought this whole mess to your attention in the first place. If I hadn't told you about the letter I got, none of this would have happened."

"But-"

"This is very noble of the two of you," Aveline said, "but every second we spend here is a second Merrill – or Validation or whatever you're calling her – gets closer to the mansion. We don't have time to argue over who gets to be the hero."

Varric met Hawke's silver gaze. "Hawke… let me have this one, okay? I owe Daisy that much."

"You don't even know if you can take her! How well do you think Bianca is going to hold up against a demon?"

"We'll have to see," the dwarf replied, resting the crossbow against his shoulder. "But I promise I won't let Merrill get hurt. Dwarf's honor."

Hawke tightened her jaw and narrowed her eyes. She didn't like this plan at all. Varric couldn't use magic, and as deadly as Bianca was, the crossbow couldn't stand up to the full force of an abomination. She would feel much more comfortable if it was her or Anders going up against Validation; after all, a mage against a mage was a much more even fight.

But Varric did have a point. He was probably the only one out there who cared about Merrill as much as Hawke did. Fenris was unreliable, given his low opinion and tense history with the elf. Isabela would certainly _try_ to protect her, but if it came down to choosing to protect herself or Merrill, Hawke couldn't be sure what the pirate queen would choose. And Aveline would probably be looking after their wounded, protecting them from Validation's wrath.

If Varric faced down the demon alone, it could give Hawke an opening to weaken her. A Winter's Grasp spell or paralysis rune to freeze her, a Lightning Storm spell to seize her muscles up… anything to keep her immobile so Varric could safely restrain her. It wasn't a perfect plan, but it was the best they had.

_We don't need to even truly defeat the demon_, she reassured herself. _All we need to do is restrain her and get her to Anders. We can take it from there._

So she sighed and nodded, clenching her hands into fists. "All right, Varric. You win. Just make sure Merrill makes it out of this in one piece."

He nodded seriously, forgoing any sarcastic quips or jokes. "I will, Hawke. I promise."

It made her feel helpless, leaving the lives of two of her best friends up to sheer chance. But there was no other choice that made sense. Their only advantage over Validation was their superior numbers, and even that may count for less than she thought. They had no true way of knowing just how powerful this demon was.

If Merrill's outburst in the caves was any indication, this demon was far more powerful than anything they had faced before. Validation had killed Greed as easily as Hawke would swat at a fly. The prospect of facing her now was… unsettling. Hawke still had bruises left over from Greed's attacks, and when Validation revealed herself it may well be far worse than the stone statue that had housed Greed.

"All right," she sighed. "Go with Aveline and get everything set up in the main room. Make sure Isabela and Aveline don't rip each other's throats out."

"Who said anything about ripping her throat out?" the guardswoman said. "If it comes to it, I'm just going to stab her."

"You're not helping, Aveline."

"I know."

As Varric and Aveline moved into the main room of the mansion, Hawke turned to find Leliana leaning against the wall behind her, her hood drawn up to throw her eyes into shadow. Her arms were folded across her chest and her eyes were narrowed.

"What?"

The bard shrugged. "For one who seeks to rescue her friend, you are drawing surprisingly dangerous allies to your aid. Do you truly trust this man Fenris to safely restrain Merrill?"

"I don't," Hawke admitted. "Fenris is a good man, but he's too hotheaded to leave alone with something like this. His history with Merrill is too antagonistic."

"It doesn't take a bard to see that Fenris would rather kill Merrill and be done with it. What is the source of the rivalry between these two?"

Hawke cocked her head. Why was she suddenly so interested? Ever since the _Blooming Rose_, Hawke had grown suspicious of everything Leliana sought to learn of her companions. Was the bard truly curious, or was she gathering information to eventually use against them?

Her instincts told her not to trust the redheaded spy. _She betrayed us once_, she kept saying to herself,_ she'll betray us again. The only reason she's playing by the rules now is because she knows we'll kill her if she steps out of line._

But what was the point of keeping her in the group if she was simply a prisoner? That didn't help anyone, especially not Merrill. So Hawke scowled and thought, _I'll humor her. For now._

"Fenris is a former Tevinter slave," she explained. "He suffered many… abuses at the hands of his former master. So now, he hates magic and all who use it."

"Surprising that he would choose to follow you. Does he know you are an apostate?"

"He does," Hawke said, narrowing her eyes.

Leliana rolled her eyes. "Calm yourself, Marian. I have no intention of turning your allies against you. In fact, my original plan involved either killing or capturing them all to hurt you. I have neither the time nor the patience to seek out new allies of my own."

That… almost made sense. Hawke was still cautious, but Leliana was finally starting to sound believable again. "All right. You clearly have something on your mind. I'm listening."

"Fenris is bait, little more," Leliana said. "He will harm Merrill, given the chance. And your other friends will be far too busy keeping Validation at bay. If they are not solely on the defensive, they will die."

"Okay," Hawke said. "You're not exactly wrong. What do you propose?"

"Allow me to help. Return my weapons to me and I will lend my skills to your cause. I am a duelist of no small talent, after all."

"Right. Because that worked out _so_ well for us last time."

Leliana raised an eyebrow. "You want me to prove my loyalty? To prove I will not turn against you?"

"It would go a long way," Hawke folded her arms across her chest. Why should we trust you now?"

Leliana uncrossed her arms and moved forward, defiantly holding Hawke's silver-hued gaze. There was a barely-concealed fury radiating off of the woman, and Hawke was sure whatever she said next was sure to be trouble. Leliana, as usual, did not disappoint.

"Because I know Merrill is a blood mage."

* * *

_Author's Note: Sorry this chapter's a little late. Blame Dragon Age: Inquisition. I'm racing through that game (despite being terrified of how it might end) in order to both experience how the story ends and see what _Trespasser _has in store. I've avoided finishing that story long enough._

_If the finale is as emotionally crippling as the ending of DA2, expect there to be some more short stories coming out so I can vent. :D_


	18. Hellathen

**Shores of the Black Lake, the Fade**

As soon as they reached the shore, Victory hopped out of the boat and tugged it into shallower water. A small group of wraiths and spirits were gathered on the shore, milling about as they waited for Victory's arrival. Merrill was worried about meeting them all, at least until she spotted the familiar quillbacked shape of the sloth demon lumbering among their ranks. She never thought she would be so glad to see a demon in her life.

She and Justice quickly followed Victory to the group. At their approach, one of the mistlike wraiths floated forward and said, "_Victory, we have assembled all who dared to stand against Validation. They await just beyond this island. They can be here within minutes if need be."_

_"__Very good,"_ Victory replied. A heavily-armored spirit of Valor stepped forward and held out a pair of lethal-edged black daggers. Victory took the weapons and sheathed them on her belt. Merrill watched her with a shiver and thought, _Creators,_ _she even uses the same kinds of weapons that Lyna used to._

Justice, meanwhile, accepted an angular staff tipped with an obsidian blade at one end. He held the weapon securely in both hands and fixed Valor with a blue-white glare. "_What of Validation? Has there been any sign of her?"_

The armored spirit shook its head. "_No, sir. But we cannot enter the tower without her surely sensing us."_

Justice scowled and turned back to Victory. "_That complicates things. We will have no idea if she is actually here until we are within her grasp."_

"That's not true," Merrill said. "She… she's here."

Victory turned to her with a knowing stare. _"You are beginning to sense it, no? The connection between you two?"_

"I… I can sense it," Merrill said. If she closed her eyes, she could sense _something. _A dark presence, like a shard of ice just behind her heart. If she focused hard enough, she could almost see shapes in her mind's eye. She saw twisted statues that had once been men, and dark tapestries filled with sharp, angular writing. And if she focused harder, she could see the faintest glimpse of the Black Lake through a wide, shattered window.

"She's here," Merrill said, opening her eyes. "I… I don't know exactly where, but… it's somewhere _high_…"

"_That is simple,_" Victory said, looking up at the tower high above. Lights were burning in the tallest rooms of the tower. "_She will be at the highest point of the tower_."

"How can you be sure?"

Victory laughed, a crackle of lightning racing up her arms. "_She is a demon of pride, if you'll recall."_

Merrill blushed. "Right. Of course. Top of the tower it is."

"_Do not worry, Merrill. We will be by your side the whole way."_

Merrill grimaced, staring at her feet. "Victory… why do you have so much faith in me? What have I done to deserve your trust?"

Victory smiled at her, resting her hands on her hips. "_I have been watching you, _da'len, _ just as I watched your friend Mahariel long ago. I followed your progress through the Fade and watched as you dispatched Validation's minions on your path to Justice's sanctuary."_

"You… _you_ were the spirit that was following me before!"

"_I was. I was curious as to your intentions in this place. I found you… very impressive. You piqued my interest, _da'len_. I have no doubt that you will conquer Validation. You are more powerful than you know, especially in this place."_

"I…" Merrill blushed. No one had paid her a compliment like that before. "Thank you, Victory."

The spirit just bowed her head with a small smile, then turned to speak to a trio of heavily-armored valor spirits standing behind her. Merrill felt a smile tugging at her lips as she saw the familiar hulking figure of the sloth demon napping just behind them. She moved to go speak to it, but before she could she felt Justice gently touch her wrist. His touch was cold and smooth, despite the spectral flames licking at his skin and the lightning racing just beneath the surface of his skin.

"_Merrill, if I could speak to you for a moment. In private."_

She stared at the spirit, not liking the quiet tension in his voice. "O-of course."

He led her around the corner of a large, rocky outcropping, well out of eyesight and earshot of the others. Once he was sure they were truly alone, Justice turned on her and folded his arms across his chest while regarding her with a cold look. Merrill watched the misty blue discharge waft away from his eyes, fidgeting uncomfortably the whole time.

"_There is something more you must know about Validation_," he finally said. "_Demons are more complex than they appear, and she is no exception. She feeds upon emotional turmoil, anchoring herself to a powerful source of contention within her host."_

He narrowed his glowing blue eyes. "_Until you find that source of contention, young mortal, Validation's control upon your mind will be too strong to break."_

"Wait… so we can't kill her here until… until what?"

"_You have seen much strife in your time, young one, and have had many injustices done upon you. Such occurrences leave… scars upon the psyche. These scars are all interconnected and stem from a single source, like the epicenter of a fractured mirror._"

"Okay…"

"_The emotions that lay heavily upon these scars – fear, despair, rage, and greed – are what feed Validation and her kind. They consume them in their host and create them in others they prey upon. But until you identify and remove the epicenter of this fracture upon your mind, Validation will remain."_

Merrill fidgeted, wringing her hands and glancing over her shoulder. Victory and the others were still talking along the shoreline. "Why are you telling me this now? And why didn't Victory tell me from the start?"

"_Because Victory believes we can defeat Validation with our own power," _Justice said. A scowl pulled at his face – no, _Anders' _face. Merrill winced, reminding herself that to Justice, the mage's appearance was only a mask for his true appearance, just like Victory.

"_She is a cunning strategist,_" the spirit continued,_ "but her own lust for triumph has clouded her judgement. Corrupted her purpose."_

"Are… are you saying she may be a demon?"

Justice stared at the other spirit in the distance, a concerned expression on his borrowed face. "_I am afraid that may be the case. Validation does not always need to directly exert control to corrupt her fellows. Victory would not be the first to fall to the demon's evil."_

"And if she did," Merrill said slowly. "What would happen?"

_"__She would become a spirit of Domination. A very powerful pride demon in her own right. I doubt we would be able to subdue her and Validation at the same time."_

Justice's jaw tightened. "_I pray Validation does not sense this and seek to corrupt my friend even faster._"

"So… what does that mean? For this… this quest?"

Justice sighed, the flames around his hands flickering and dancing. "_Victory's judgement may be clouded. Yet you may still help us to weaken Validation, if you can but find the source of conflict within you that she has attached herself to. If you succeed, Victory would be spared and returned to her original state."_

"What… what could it be? This source of conflict?"

"_I do not know. But Validation feeds upon feelings of being unappreciated, undervalued, or abandoned. What you must do, young mortal, is find some way to lessen this source of conflict within you. If someone has slighted you, you must forgive them. If fate has wronged you, you must accept it."_

"That's not an easy thing to do, you know."

"_I never claimed this would be easy. But you must do it, for all our sakes."_

She rubbed at her chin, staring at the sharp black stones beneath her sandaled feet. "So… a source of conflict… I don't know, Justice. I try to be nice to everybody, even if they're not nice to me."

_"__It is not a matter of being _nice_," _Justice said, a scowl pulling his face down. "_Anyone who wrongs you can be a source of contention."_

"Anyone? Well, how will I know?"

"_It is possible,_" Justice murmured, "_that in her bid to protect herself, Validation will call upon this source of conflict in an attempt to unnerve and defeat you. If so, you will need to be wary and be prepared for a painful experience facing her down. If you fall to her evil, we are all lost."_

"_Justice," _came a smooth female voice from behind them, "_I am disappointed in you. Speaking to our friend behind my back?"_

Justice folded his arms. "_Must I now clear all of my conversations with you, Victory? I was merely explaining our battle plan to our elven friend."_

Victory drew closer, purple-white eyes narrowed. She had her angular obsidian bow slung over her shoulder next to a quiver of sharp, lethal-looking arrows. Sheathed on her belt were twin daggers the length of Merrill's forearm, pulsing with a sickly-looking green glow. In her hands she carried a twisted and sharp-edged staff with a glowing green crystal at the tip.

She glanced between the two, planting the pointed end of the staff in the chipped black rock at their feet. "_I will try to be brief, then. Merrill, I was speaking to the spirits of Valor and the agreed to part with this weapon. It will suit you well in the battle to come."_

The spirit held out the staff to her. Merrill gulped at the thought of the battle staring them down, but reached out and took the weapon. The grip was as smooth as glass, with bumps and ridges along the shaft to perfectly fit her thin elven fingers. The crystal warmed and glowed a bright green at her touch, as if welcoming her.

"It's _beautiful_," she whispered, hefting the weapon.

_"__It is made from pure Fade-forged obsidian,_" Victory said, a pleased smile on her lips. She hooked her arms around her back. "_Valor seemed quite pleased with it. They give it to you as a sign of friendship and fellowship, hoping such connections will carry you through the battle against Validation."_

"Does it have a name?" Merrill asked, running her palm across the smooth obsidian surface of the staff.

"_A name?"_

"Oh yes! All the best weapons have names! At least that's what Varric is always telling people. He has a crossbow named Bianca."

Victory shot a curious glance at Justice, who grudgingly nodded. "_The mortal speaks the truth. They have strange customs when it comes to battle tradition."_

_"__Very well,_" Victory said. "_Then why don't you name it, _da'len_?"_

Merrill studied the weapon, watching the way the ambient light of the Beyond shimmered and reflected in the shimmering black surface of the stone staff. She bit her lip, then murmured, "I'll call it… _Hellathen."_

Justice blinked. "_And what does that mean?_"

"Noble struggle," Merrill said, gripping the staff tightly in one hand. She felt warm feelings travel up her arm, as if the weapon approved. "A heroic battle."

Victory slowly smiled . "_I think that is very fitting, _da'len_."_

She turned to leave, calling over her shoulder as she went. _"I shall be waiting with the others. We are leaving in five minutes. Prepare yourselves."_

Merrill watched the spirit go, trying to believe Justice's words. Could she truly be a demon? Demons didn't give people gifts, did they? Granted, there were demons among her forces even here at Validation's fortress; Merrill had seen undulating Rage demons and seductive Desire demons among the spirits and wraiths that made up Victory's tiny army.

_Don't let her appearance fool you, Merrill_, she thought to herself. _Remember, she is a _spirit_. She may look like Lyna, but she isn't. Lyna is… is gone. Maybe forever. Remember that._

Justice stepped up next to Merrill and watched the other spirit leave. When he spoke, it was as if he had just read her mind. Perhaps he had. "_I do not intend to turn you against her, Merrill," _he murmured._ "I simply wish for you to stay vigilant. This place is not for your kind, and it would be most unfortunate if you fell prey to the Fade and its obscurities now."_

Merrill nodded, tightening her grip around _Hellathen_. "I'll be careful. I promise."

_"__He doesn't hate you, you know_."

"What?"

Justice glanced at her. "_Anders. I know the two of you argue often. But he does not hate you. He admires your power in the face of the worst the Fade has to offer. That is why he so strongly believes you should help him in his – in _our_ – fight to free mages everywhere. He wants your help."_

"Then why does he always yell at me?"

_"__Anders and I both follow our beliefs with the utmost dedication. And your refusal to join him… it infuriates us both. But know that it comes from a place of respect, not hatred_."

"Why are you telling me this?" Merrill wasn't used to such a display of openness from Anders or his spirit counterpart.

"_There is a chance that your rivalry with Anders could be the source of contention within you_," Justice said. "_If I have the ability to ease such anger, I will ensure you are as calmed as possible before facing Validation."_

"Oh." So it was purely a matter of tactics. _That_ was more familiar.

Justice bowed his head to her and left without another word, leaving Merrill alone on the shore of the Black Lake, clutching at her new staff. Thankfully she heard heavy, plodding footsteps and turned to find the hulking form of the sloth demon lumbering past Justice's retreating form, watching him pass with bleary red eyes before plodding resolutely onward. It came to a halt in front of Merrill, resting back on its haunches.

"_Hmm… the other specters have been conversing," _the demon told her, "_and we are prepared to attack Validation's fortress as soon as you are ready. Victory seems anxious to get underway."_

"Are you coming with us?" Merrill asked. "I… I would feel a lot safer if you were."

The bear-like demon nodded. "_I will be accompanying you and your allies, mortal. Normally, I would… hmm, simply sleep through this whole ordeal. But… I understand the importance of this battle. If any of us wish to live freely within the Fade, Validation must be killed and you must be sent back to your home."_

It sniffed at her staff, blinking slowly and licking its lips. "_Such an occurrence is important even to a sloth demon such as I."_

Merrill nodded with a small smile. "Thank you… um, I'm sorry. I don't even know your name."

It yawned. "_I am not picky. Sloth will be… more than adequate."_

"Right. Then thank you, Sloth."

The demon pricked up its ears, following her gaze to where she was still watching Victory converse with her fellow spirits. Sloth cocked its head. "_Your gaze is… distracted, mortal. What troubles plague your thoughts?"_

"Victory…" Merrill considered telling the demon about Justice's revelation about Victory, but decided instead to focus on the more pressing issue. "She looks just like a very old friend. A friend I miss very much."

Sloth yawned. "_Unsurprising. The Fade shifts to fit the perception of those within it. Your mind most likely supplied the basis for her form."_

"No, she said she saw my friend and became her… because she respected her. She wanted to be _like_ her." Merrill shook her head. "She's just _too_ similar. It makes me homesick."

"_Such thoughts can be dangerous in this place,_" Sloth warned her. "_Rest assured… Victory is _not_ your old friend. She is a powerful spirit… and should be treated as such."_

"I know… I just…" Merrill sniffed, fighting back a sudden and unexpected wave of tears. "I miss Lyna. Especially in this place, so far from everything I know. Lyna would know what to do."

Maybe it was the shock at seeing Lyna's face on this formless spirit, but the longing to see her oldest friend had hit her hard and fast. The longer she spent in this place, the more she wanted to be by Mahariel's side again. Hawke would be nice to see as well, but this was one hurt that Marian couldn't fix with nice words and flowers.

_Oh, Lyna_, she thought, wiping away the tears from her cheeks. _Is this what it's like being a great hero? Do all heroes just want nothing more than to go home and curl up under the bedcovers with a good book and a cup of tea?_

Sloth noticed her tears and cocked its head. "_My dear, _none_ of us know what to do. But know this, at least…. Validation is all that stands between you and seeing your friend Lyna again."_

Merrill laughed dryly. "More than just Validation keeps us apart, Sloth."

The hulking bear-like demon ruffled its quill-studded coat and rose to its feet. "_Have faith, little one. Validation preys on such thoughts. Steel your heart… and comfort yourself with the knowledge that you will be home very soon."_

She nodded. "All I have to do is kill an eons-old pride demon."

"_Legends have sprung from humbler origins_," Sloth said, padding forward toward the others. "_Come._ _The others are waiting._"

She nodded, feeling her stomach churn as they approached the knot of spirits once again. She clutched at her staff, feeling her heart race at the thought of facing Validation again. But as Victory flashed her a reassuring smile and as Justice rallied his fellow spirits, preparing them for battle, she knew she had no choice. Now was her time to be the hero.

_Varric will be jealous, at least_, she thought. _For once, _I'll_ have the best story at the Hanged Man._

Oddly enough, that thought comforted her the most.


	19. Clash With a Demon

Hawke crouched in the darkness overlooking the main atrium of Fenris' mansion, both hands placed on the railing as her silver gaze raked back and forth across the floor below. Varric was standing next to her, resting Bianca against the railing to give him steadier aim. Aveline was to her right, hand on the pommel of her sword. On the floor below, Hawke could see Isabela crouching behind a hastily-erected barricade of crates and wooden panels with her daggers drawn and a determined set to her jaw. Fenris was pacing back and forth in the main floor, hefting his greatsword in both hands, and Leliana was hidden in the shadows just inside the main room, bow drown with an arrow nocked and at the ready.

"Any sign of her?" Hawke murmured, drawing her staff and flexing her fingers around the grip. The lyrium crystal at the end of the weapon pulsed at the latent magic in her touch. "I don't want Validation getting the jump on us."

"Easy, Hawke," Varric said. "I'm keeping an eagle eye on this room. If she shows up, I'll see her."

"Seeing her isn't the problem," Hawke grunted. She turned her gaze to the floor below and raised her voice. "'Bela, move up and flank the doorway with Leliana."

The pirate shook her head, putting her back to the barricade and glaring up at the mage. "You flank the door. If a demon in Kitten's body is going to come charging through that door, I'm making sure I'm behind this barrier. Let our lovable Lady Nightingale get killed first."

"'Bela," Hawke warned. "Don't make me come down there."

"And do what? Spank me?" the piratess laughed. "Go on. I look forward to it."

"Isabela!" Hawke fought back a blush.

"Come on, I dare you. It may even be fun…"

"Will the two of you shut up?" Fenris growled. "When the abomination bashes down my door, I don't want you two and your idiotic flirting to give away our position."

"Fenris," Isabela said, "why don't you go sit on a—"

She was cut off by a massive crash from the front door. All eyes instantly fixed on the entryway, hands tightening on weapons. Varric tucked Bianca against his chest, squinting down the sights as his finger rested on the trigger. "Here comes trouble…"

Fenris tensed, bending at the knee and raising his greatsword so the blade aimed back toward his shoulder. His eyes narrowed while his lyrium-infused tattoos pulsed.

Hawke motioned furiously for Isabela to move up, mouthing, "_Bela! Get next to the damn door!"_

Isabela shot back another motion that needed no words for explanation. Then she pulled her daggers close to her chest and pressed her back against the barricade. The light glinted off the long daggers, shining in the darkness.

Another crash from the doorway, so loud it shook dust down from the ceiling. The air within the mansion grew thick with anticipation. It felt like a frayed rope about to snap, sending Hawke and her friends plummeting toward an uncertain future.

Another crash and Aveline drew her sword, the blade sliding free of its scabbard with a metallic sheath. "Maker," she hissed. "And that's Merrill causing that racket?"

Hawke nodded, raising her staff. "Get ready. This is going to be ugly."

A final crash, followed by splintering wood and scraping metal; the door had been burst in, just as Fenris had predicted. Varric let out a long breath and muttered, "At least she's favoring the direct approach. I'd hate it if she tried to sneak in."

"Ssh!" Hawke said. "Don't jinx it."

There was silence for a split second before a twisted, inhuman voice roared, "_Fenris!_"

The elf growled low in his throat and prepared to strike. The sound of bare feet on stone could be heard from the entrance. Hawke didn't even realize she was holding her breath, her grip on her staff so tight her fingers were shaking. Aveline leaned over and squeezed her shoulder to calm her, then reached over her shoulder and hooked her shield over her forearm.

The battle begun before any of them could anticipate it; a crackling spear of lightning shot from the entryway, heading straight for Fenris. The elf's eyes widened before he threw himself to the side, tucking into a tight roll that brought him back to his feet some distance away. The lightning storm exploded harmlessly against the wall beneath Hawke's position, carving a small crater from the tile.

A deep rumble clouded the air and Merrill stalked into the room, staff in one hand and a roiling ball of lightning floating above the other. Her eyes were pulsing with scarlet light, her tattooed face twisted into a mask of rage and hatred. Hawke's heart plummeted into her chest at the sight and she forced herself to remember that this wasn't Merrill. It was a demon, taking her form. Merrill would never be so hateful, would never purposefully hurt them-

Fenris rolled again as Merrill threw another spear of lightning at him. He brought his sword up as he came to his feet and slashed at the mage. Merrill hopped back, whirling her staff in front of her before thrusting it forward. Chunks of stone ripped themselves from the floor, forming into a man-sized fist that shot forward and hit Fenris square in the chest. The elven warrior cried out as he was knocked back off his feed, sliding across the floor.

Leliana had her cue; she threw herself into the fray, unleashing arrow after arrow from her wickedly curved shortbow. The arrows ricocheted off Merrill's shoulders and back, each met with a cry of pain from the mage. They had swapped out Leliana's normal arrows before the battle, wrapping the tips in thick straps of leather. The arrows would hurt Merrill and draw her attention, but not cause lasting damage.

Merrill spun to the bard and threw out both hands, letting out a roar as greenish light filled her palms. At her bidding, twin pillars of stone burst from the ground under Leliana's feet, throwing the bard high into the air. But Leliana was more resourceful than she appeared, and she pivoted in midair before landing gracefully on her feet again. She drew another leather-wrapped arrow and continued firing away.

"Wish me luck, "Aveline muttered before sprinting down the stairs with sword and shield drawn.

Merrill's attention was focused on Leliana, but she seemed to sense Aveline's approach. As the guard captain brought her shield down for a stunning blow, the mage pivoted and brought her staff up to deflect it. She twisted the staff, shoving Aveline off to one side before bringing her weapon down across the other woman's armored back. A sharp _clang_ rang through the mansion as the staff clashed against Aveline's armor, hard enough to send the big woman staggering.

Isabela's turn was up. She threw herself out from behind the barricade and tackled Merrill around the waist, bringing them both to the ground. The Rivaini straightened, pinning Merrill to the floor with a hand around her neck while she raised her dagger. "Give it up, demon! Kitten's ours, not yours!"

Merrill said nothing, but her eyes pulsed red and Isabela was suddenly thrown off by a powerful telekinetic blast. The Rivaini landed in a heap, but quickly flipped back to her feet and scooped up her fallen daggers.

Varric cranked back Bianca's loading rod and fired a bolt at Merrill's feet. The bolt slammed into the floor and shattered, effectively drawing her attention to him. While she was glaring up at him, a coordinated assault from Fenris and Aveline brought her to her knees. Fenris jabbed with the pommel of his greatsword, hitting her in the back of the leg while Aveline slammed her shield across Merrill's shoulder blades. The elven woman was slammed to the ground, but rolled to the side as Aveline tried to pounce on her.

"You think you have a chance against me?" Merrill sneered, scrambling to her feet again. "I am beyond you filthy mortals!"

"Demon!" Hawke called from her vantage point above the battle. Those flaming red eyes instantly snapped to her. Hawke raised her staff. "Let my friend go, or we'll be forced to do something we'll all regret!"

Merrill threw out an arm to attack her, but Hawke whirled her staff up in front of her and projected a barrier before the ensuing lightning bolt could harm her. While Merrill was still charging up another, Hawke vaulted over the railing and plummeted to the floor below. She landed hard, blocking another lightning bolt with a magic barrier. Before her opponent could recover, she twisted her staff around so the bladed end was pointing to the floor, the crystal aimed toward her shoulder.

Merrill sneered, throwing out her arms and projecting a wave of energy to ward off Aveline, Isabela, and Fenris all at once. The three flew back, crumpling to the floor. As they began to rise, Varric motioned for them to back off; this was part of the plan, after all. Leliana rushed to their aid, helping them to their feet and getting them clear of any potential magical fallout.

Merrill's eyes were filled with hate as she began to circle Hawke. Her tiny fingers clenched into fists and her entire frame was quivering with rage. When she spoke, her voice was a dark, twisted version of Merrill's adorable Dalish lilt.

"This girl is _mine_, Marian," the demon snarled with Merrill's lips.

Hawke's eyes widened. This thing knew her _name_?

The demon seemed to read her mind, because it sneered at her, hunching its shoulders as it regarded her with predatory hunter. "Oh yes, Hawke. I know all about you and your little friends. Did you really think a foolish girl like Merrill could keep such thoughts from me?"

Hawke's teeth clenched. Slowly, they continued circling each other, sizing up each other's strengths and weaknesses with keen eyes. Hawke glared at the abomination before her and growled, "Then you know this isn't our first possession. We will stop you, demon."

"Oh?" Merrill laughed. "And at what cost? Are you willing to kill your precious Merrill, Hawke? Will you watch her die to rid her of my influence?"

"It won't come to that."

"Tell me, Hawke, could you live with the shame, knowing you killed one of your closest allies? Seeing the fear in her eyes as she choked on her own blood, your staff blade piercing her heart?"

Hawke's own heart was racing. "Shut up."

Merrill cackled again, green-white lightning racing around her hands. "Will you lay awake at night, wondering if you could have saved her? Wondering what might have been between you had you not discovered that accursed mine?"

Hawke felt rage boil her blood. Her staff raised, a ring of fire lighting around the crystal it its tip. "Shut _up_!"

"Come then, hero," Merrill sneered. "Help me to kill your precious elf."

Hawke charged forward, raising her staff above her head. At this close quarters, only melee combat would protect them. Merrill crouched low, bringing her own staff up horizontally to block the descending blow. She caught Hawke's blade against her staff and wrenched it to one side. Hawke recovered quickly, whirling the weapon behind her back before bringing it up and thrusting it forward. Merrill gracefully dodged the blow, lashing out with a whip-like chain of lightning that caught Hawke in the chest and sent her staggering.

_Come on,_ she thought as she regained her balance. _I can do this. I've fought abominations before. Merrill may be inside this one, but that doesn't change what it is._

As Merrill approached again, Hawke lit a fireball spell in one hand and closed her eyes.

_Maker forgive me_.

* * *

**The Fade**

Merrill and the others were just about to get underway when the elf suddenly doubled over, holding her stomach and letting out a choked cry of pain. Victory instantly spun to her, a concerned look on her face. "_Merrill? What is wrong?"_

Merrill fell to her knees, clutching at her stomach. Then she arched her back, as if she had been struck by an invisible force. Her muscles quivered, hands clenched into fists. As the convulsions eased, she put one hand to her face and when it came away, her fingers were wet with blood dripping from her nose.

"_What is happening?"_ Justice demanded, kneeling next to her.

Merrill doubled up again, and through watery eyes she could see a dark bruise beginning to form on her forearm. A few seconds later, a long gash opened up on her shoulder, as if an invisible blade had sliced it open. She cried out and clutched at the wound until another, lesser cut opened up on her collarbone.

Victory knelt in front of her as Justice again demanded to know what was happening. Merrill looked up to see a wide-eyed look of excitement on Victory's face. _Lyna's_ face.

"_They have begun_," Victory whispered in a hushed voice. "_They are fighting her."_

* * *

Merrill staggered back, blood seeping through her leather robes from the cut just under her neck. Hawke fell back, crouched low with one hand outstretched. Her blood was pumping, magic coursing through her system as she panted for breath. Merrill seemed determined to fight her one-one-one; she had resolutely kept everyone else back with telekinetic bursts as soon as anyone else tried to enter the fight.

Before Merrill could catch her breath, Hawke rushed forward and slashed with the blunt crystal end of her staff. The blow caught the abomination in the jaw, sending her staggering. Hawke pivoted on one foot and followed up with a jab to the ribs that brought Merrill to her knees.

Before she could press her attack, Merrill clenched a fist and a head-sized chunk of the ground ripped up into the air and flew at Hawke. Varric saw the projectile and quickly fired a round from above them, shattering the rock and sending little more than pebbles bouncing against Hawke's armor.

The distraction was enough, though. Merrill threw herself forward and slashed with her own staff, scoring a long strike down Hawke's arm. Marian cried out as blood splashed the ground, raising a hand and unleashing a torrent of flame at her opponent to buy herself time. Merrill raised one hand and blocked it with a magical force field, advancing on her.

Hawke thrust her staff forward with her injured arm, adding a second bout of fire. The magic didn't even slow Merrill down. As Hawke furiously attempted to regain her position, the abomination strode through the flame and threw out an arm. Instantly, Hawke felt two giant hands grip her, pinning her arms to her side and lifting her into the air.

"Oh, bollocks…"

The invisible hands holding her slammed her into the wall, then the floor. She cried out, hearing an upsettingly loud crack from somewhere in her back. The hands suddenly vanished and she threw herself to the side just in time to avoid Merrill's descending staff blade.

"Will you beg?" Merrill hissed as her blade ricocheted off the ground. She easily recovered and advanced on her prey. "Will you plead for mercy in your final moments? Will you cry for your mother? Stare resolutely as your fate falls upon you?"

Hawke tried to rise to her feet, but Merrill threw aside her staff and grabbed Hawke by the throat. Her tiny fist smashed into Marian's nose, instantly bloodying it. Hawke grunted as her head was whipped back by the blow. Another followed, even harder than the first.

"Say it!" Merrill snarled, punching her again. "Say that I am superior in every way! All you have ever done – all _any_ of you have done – is hold me back!"

"Maker…" Hawke groaned, blood now pouring from her nose. "I thought _Fenris _was the one you were after."

"He will follow," Merrill growled through clenched teeth. "But only after-"

There was a sharp _crack_ as the pommel of Fenris' greatsword connected with the back of Merrill's head. She dropped Hawke to the ground and staggered away, clutching the back of her head. Fenris loomed over her, greatsword held high. Hawke knew what he intended, could see it in the set if his jaw and the spread of his feet. The greatsword began to descend, with the intent of carving Merrill's head in two.

"Fenris, don't!"

Hawke threw out her hand just as Merrill spun and did the same. Twin telekinetic shockwaves hit the elf in the chest, sending him flying. He crashed right through the barricade of crates next to the door, sending wooden splinters flying. Merrill cursed in elven, holding the back of her head while there was a lull in the battle. She quickly shook off the blow, however, and grabbed her staff once again.

Isabela leaped out of nowhere with a loud battle cry, but Merrill anticipated the attack and easily snatched the pirate queen out of the air, a hand wrapped around her throat. Isabela let out a choked cough before Merrill slammed her hard into the ground. The hard heel of the elf's foot followed, slamming into Isabela's stomach and knocking the wind out of her. Merrill strode past her, leaving her to curl up and clutch at her stomach.

Hawke struggled to her feet, but Merrill wasn't done with her yet. Thrusting her staff out in front of her, Merrill hit her fellow mage in the chest with another invisible blast of energy. Hawke was thrown back against the wall and pinned there by a powerful magical force. Her vision swam as she felt blood leak down from her nose.

Leliana attempted to fire another arrow, but Merrill reached out and made a fist with one hand. In the blink of an eye, the bard's bow crumpled into a twisted ball of shattered wood. Leliana recoiled, throwing her ruined bow aside and drawing her daggers. These, too, were ripped from her grasp. The knives flew into the air and hit Varric standing high above them. Hawke craned her neck and cried, "No!" as she saw Varric fall away out of sight.

Aveline charged forward, but was met with a similar fate. Merrill kicked out a foot and caught the guard captain in the knee, sending the big woman tumbling. Another well-placed kick to the jaw knocked the readhead unconscious. In moments, it was all over.

Merrill stepped over Aveline, staff still stretched out and pinning Hawke to the wall. The shadows seemed to bend and curl around her as she approached, swirling over her shoulders and around her arms like living things while her eyes blaze with scarlet light. When she spoke, there was a new growl to her voice, as if there was a second, darker voice speaking behind her own.

As Hawke watched, Merrill hooked her staff over her shoulder and drew a short dagger from her belt. She reached out her hand and sliced open her palm, adding a new gash to the multitude of tiny scars already crisscrossing the skin there. The blood that poured from the wound seemed to boil, swirling around her hand in the air and mixing with the shadows already roiling around her.

Battle had changed the little elf. The healthy blush in her cheeks was gone, her entire face now a sickly gray color with dark veins crawling beneath the skin. Her eyes were sunken and dark, her lips peeled back over her teeth in a predatory leer. Her hair twisted and fell loose from its tight braids, flying wildly about her head while simultaneously losing pigment until it was a lackluster gray. Her armor charred and blackened before Hawke's eyes, as if an invisible fire crackled around her lanky body. Her fingernails grew and twisted until they were more akin to talons, and they reached for Hawke like the beckoning hand of the Death itself.

What now stood before her was not Merrill. It was a monster.

"Do you see now, Hawke?" the creature rumbled. "Do you see what I am capable of?"

Hawke struggled against her invisible bonds. "Merrill… don't do this. I know you're still in there somewhere. Please…"

"Ah, so you shall beg?" the demon grinned as red light surged from her eyes. It drew even with Hawke and the pinned mage could feel the heat radiating off the elf's skinny form. Its uninjured hand flashed out and grabbed Hawke by the throat, squeezing the air from her. "Then _say it_. Say that all you and your ilk have done is drag me lower so I could not realize my natural superiority. You _never_ appreciated me. You always thought I was just a silly little girl playing at being a hero, while you lorded over me and pretended to be more powerful."

The demon squeezed tighter. Hawke squeezed her eyes shut and screamed as she felt the invisible needles of blood magic course down Merrill's hands, surging through her body. Hawke could see the blood already staining her body begin to float out and join the tendrils of scarlet already dancing around Merrill's arms. Merrill was absorbing her power, leeching her life force from her.

"Who is the powerful one now?" it hissed. "Who is truly great?"

"Merrill, don't-"

She didn't get to finish. Merrill drove her dagger forward, plunging it into Hawke's side. Hawke arched her back against the bonds holding her to the wall, letting out a tortured scream as Merrill twisted the dagger between her ribs. Blood poured from the wound, hissing up into the air as the scarlet light in Merrill's eyes only grew stronger.

"I'll kill you…" Tears were streaming down Hawke's cheeks, but she managed to choke out, "I'll kill you, demon. For this… and for what you did to my friend…"

"Defiance?" Merrill grinned. "Even better. Defiance is _delicious_."

She stabbed again and it was met with another scream from Hawke. Blood now soaked the entire right side of Hawke's armor, and she could feel all sensation seeping from that arm. Her staff fell from limp fingers, clattering to the ground.

Merrill tipped her head back and closed her eyes, no doubt savoring the fear and pain pouring off of her captive. Hawke screwed her eyes shut and tried to drown out the agony radiating from her side, to no avail. Her vision began to go dark, all sensation slipping away.

"I can _smell_ your terror," Merrill hissed, licking her lips. Her free hand reached up, fingers spreading over Hawke's forehead. Hawke managed to suck in a breath before an even greater pain ripped through her skull. She could manage no more than a choked groan now as a dark shadow began to ripple through the air between her forehead and Merrill's bloody palm. Her entire body seized up, hands clenching into fists and eyes squeezed shut as agony unlike any she had felt before coursed through her body. It was like her soul itself was being torn apart, like everything inside her was being shredded to pieces and sucked out through her forehead. Her body began to go cold, starting at her extremities and making its way to her chest. A sharp pain stabbed just behind her heart, as if something vital was being ripped away.

"Merrill!" she managed to scream. "Please, stop this! Maker, make it _stop_!"

Her prayers were answered; the pain suddenly vanished, leaving Hawke to suck in a desperate gasp of air. She slumped forward onto the hard floor, her invisible bonds now gone. She heard a sharp _crack_, and Merrill let out a groan.

Through bleary eyes, Hawke looked up to see Merrill stagger and fall to her knees. Varric was standing behind her, Isabela's twin daggers embedded deep in Bianca's wooden stock. As Hawke watched, the dwarf raised his crossbow and drove the butt of the weapon into the back of Merrill's head. The elf recoiled, her eyes rolling back in her head, then slumped forward and didn't move again.

* * *

**Kirkwall (Present)**

"Well?" Cassandra demanded breathlessly. "What happened? Did you capture Merrill? Was Hawke alright?"

Varric raised his gloved hands. "Slow down there, Seeker. Getting a little anxious?"

Cassandra scowled, folding her arms in defiant stubbornness. But the quiver in her voice spoke volumes. "O-of course not. I simply wish to see this story through to its conclusion."

"Right. You have read the book, right? You know no one dies at the end of this tale."

"I read the book, Varric," the Seeker scowled. "Still, this story is new."

"Aha! So you're admitting that you hang on my every word."

"Of course," Cassandra scoffed. "The tales you spin here may very well mean life and death for my men out in the field. Not to mention the vast importance of this tale when Hawke is brought to justice for her crimes."

"Right," Varric smirked. "Whatever you say. But I know a fan when I see one."

"Ugh."

"If you want, I could sign your copy of _The Tale of the Champion_. I'd have to write around the stab hole you put through it, but still…"

Leliana smiled, then quickly hid it behind her hand. Pentaghast ignored her while Varric leaned back in his chair with a knowing chuckle. "You won't have to wait long for the epic finale, Seeker. We're entering the final act now."

"I do wonder…" Leliana finally murmured, "what motivation drove Victory to assume Mahariel's form. She claims to have seen Lyna in the midst of her army before the Battle of Denerim. Surely the spirit would have felt her… her death as well. A fallen hero is hardly a noble example of victory."

Varric sighed. "That, my dear Songbird, is a question I can't answer. Creepy Fade shit is beyond me."

"Of course. I apologize. Do continue."

Varric frowned, thinking hard. "Well, after we managed to knock the demon unconscious – or unconscious_er_, considering Merrill was already unconscious the whole time – we had to turn our attention to our wounded. Hawke was in pretty bad shape after the fight…"

* * *

_Author's Note: I decided to post another chapter early because this story is long overdue a real fight scene and I'm anxious to move this plotline forward. We're almost done now, and I don't want this story to turn into another _Contention_, where it's stuck in limbo for way too long because I flounder and can't find a way to finish it. _

_The finale is upon us!_


	20. Hawke's Newest Near-Death Experience

**Fenris' Mansion, Kirkwall (Past)**

Varric slumped, letting Bianca clatter to the floor. His breath was coming in short gasps; that had been far too close for comfort. But when he looked down on the unconscious Merrill at his feet, he knew he didn't have much time. That demon inside her would wake up soon and when she did she would be _royally_ pissed off. Before that could happen, he pulled a heavy length of rope from inside his trusty leather duster and bound the elf girl's arms tightly behind her back. He then tied her feet together as well, just to be safe.

He only hoped that would hold the demon within her.

"Sorry, Daisy," he muttered as he worked. "It's for your own good. You'll thank me later, I promise."

Once he was done, he looked up and saw Hawke lying face-down on the ground. A swiftly-spreading pool of blood surrounded her, staining the tiles of the floor a deep scarlet. _Her_ blood.

"Andraste's tits." He sprinted forward and knelt next to her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Hawke? Hawke, can you hear me?" No response. Her eyes were closed, her face far too pale. Her fingers were limp and he couldn't see her torso rising and falling with breath. He pulled his glove off and put two fingers under jaw, against her neck. No pulse.

"Shit."

He grabbed her shoulder and rolled her over. The right side of her armor was sticky with blood, and more was dripping onto the floor as Varric watched. He shook his head and muttered, "No, no, no. Hawke, don't you dare make me write your death scene early. You still haven't even been revealed as the main villain yet!"

Isabela skidded to a halt next to Varric dropping to her knees. She breathlessly demanded, "What happened?" Behind her, Fenris was picking himself up from the ruined barricade and Leliana was getting Aveline back on her feet. "Is she all right?"

Varric shook his head., his voice tight with fear. "No breathing, no pulse. I don't know what that demon did to her, but… _Shit_!"

The piratess frantically motioned for Varric to move aside. Her eyes were wide, her voice tense and tight. "Out of the way. Let me take a look at her."

She gestured to the wound in Hawke's side. "Put your hands there. Press down _hard_. We need to stop the blood flow until we can get it bound tight."

Varric did as he was told, pressing his hands against the bloody armor and pressing down hard. Blood squirted between his fingers and he grimaced at the disgusting sensation and the cloying scent of warm blood. But he couldn't afford to be squeamish and they didn't have any time to waste. He watched with baited breath as Isabela reached forward and laced her fingers together, placing the heel of her hand just over Hawke's sternum. The piratess' jaw tightened and she muttered, "Let's see if the _Siren's Call _sawbones managed to teach me anything after all."

She pushed down hard, throwing all her weight behind the thrust, then repeated the motion. _One, two, three, four, five…_ She then put an ear to Hawke's still lips. Varric could hear; Hawke still wasn't breathing. A scowl tugged at his face and he muttered, "Damn it, Hawke, you aren't backing out of this now! Come on!"

Isabela pushed at her chest again, then closed her nose and slanted her lips over Hawke's. She huffed out three breaths, pushing air into Hawke's lungs. Then she paused, waiting for breath. When none came, she continued pushing against her chest. After several compressions, she breathed into Hawke's mouth again.

"What's happened?" Fenris' voice demanded. Varric turned to find the others behind him, all staring worriedly at Hawke's limp form. The mage's eyes were still closed, her body motionless. Still no breathing.

"Come on, Hawke!" Isabela shouted, pushing as hard as she could against the woman's chest. "You still owe me for that card game last week! Twenty silver, do you hear me? Come on you stubborn bronto's backside!"

Hawke suddenly arched her back, sucking in a long gasp of a breath. She choked and coughed, her chest heaving. She flailed and tried to scramble away across the floor, heaving coughs wracking her body. Her eyes were wide and afraid as she sputtered, "What… what…"

She groaned and put a hand to her side, a dizzy expression of fear and confusion crossing her face when it came away wet with her own blood.

"Easy there, hero," Varric said, holding his own bloody hands up. He quickly put them down again when Hawke's grey eyes went even wider at the sight. "You scared us there for a bit."

"What… what happened?" She craned her neck and spotted Merrill lying face-down on the floor, hands behind her back. "Merrill! Is she okay?"

"She's gonna wake up with a headache and some cuts and bruises, but she'll be fine."

Hawke slumped back against the floor and let out a long breath, holding both hands to her side. "Thank the Maker…"

Isabela grabbed her by the shoulders and hauled the mage up into a sitting position. Before Hawke could so much as blink, the piratess slapped her hard. The _crack _of her open palm hitting Hawke's cheek echoed through the empty atrium. Hawke cried out as Isabela put a finger in her face and shouted, "Don't you _ever _scare us like that again!"

Again before Hawke could retaliate, Isabela pulled her forward and kissed her hard. Varric's eyebrows shot up while Aveline rolled her eyes and Leliana smiled to herself. Fenris just folded his arms and scowled. When Isabela finally pulled away, Hawke was wide-eyed and speechless.

"Never again," Isabela snapped. "You hear me?"

Hawke nodded dumbly and Isabela stood to her full height, satisfied with the answer. She stalked off, no doubt looking for a drink after such a hairy fight. She reappeared only seconds later, a bottle of brandy clenched in one hand. Varric fought back the urge to grin. _Some things never change._

Hawke, meanwhile, shook her head, as if she could shake the kiss from her mind. "Um… so what now? Maker's _balls_ my ribs hurt…"

"Merrill is safe for now," Isabela said, reaching out and tearing a length of cloth from Leliana's hood. The redhead cried out in indignation, but Isabela ignored her. She poured some of the brandy onto the torn cloth, then knelt next to Hawke and nodded to her side. "All we need to do is get her to Anders. You could do with some healing magic, too."

She gestured with the damp cloth, tearing it into a long strip. Leliana stalked off before 'Bela could repurpose any more of her clothes as medical bindings. "Pull your shirt up. I need to bandage your wound or you'll never make it to Darktown."

Hawke blushed, but did as she was told, untucking the upper half of her robes from her belt and pulling it up above her breastband. Aveline respectfully turned her back to give Hawke some privacy while Varric simply stared with worry at Hawke's too-pale face. Fenris, however, glared at Merrill's inert form through narrowed eyes, arms folded across his chest.

Isabela began binding the wound, wrapping it tight around Hawke's midriff. Blood instantly began to soak into the cloth, and Hawke winced as it came into contact with her wound. Varric put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "You did good, Hawke. Merrill will be safe now because of—"

"Because of you," Hawke said with a grimace. "She would have killed me. You saved both of our lives."

"Well, I was going to be a little more modest than that, but sure. Whatever you say."

Leliana reappeared with a vial of red-hued liquid in one hand and knelt next to Hawke. "Drink this," she said. "It will ease your pain and heal your wounds. It should be enough to hold you until we reach your friend Anders."

Hawke downed the potion in one long gulp, grimacing at the bitter taste before throwing the bottle aside. Once done, she looked up to Aveline and Fenris. "Get to Darktown. Let Anders know we're coming. Leliana, go with them. Tell them everything you know about the last time you un-possessed someone. Anders will need to know what he needs to get this set up."

Leliana nodded. "As you wish."

"What, that's it?" Isabela scoffed. "No arguing? No attempted shankings?"

Leliana scowled at the piratess. "No. I told you, I am committed to helping your friend. I will not betray you now."

"And what brought on this sudden change of heart?"

Leliana pointedly stared at Hawke, then simply said, "I will tell Anders everything I know. All will be ready when you reach his clinic."

"Good," Hawke winced, but the blood flowing from her wound had already stopped; a sign that the potion was working. "We'll get Merrill to you and take things from there. And Leliana?"

The bard turned back to her. Hawke met the woman's deep blue gaze with her silver one, then nodded once. "Thank you."

Leliana nodded back, the motion so slight Varric almost missed it. "Of course."

* * *

**Validation's Tower, The Fade**

Merrill threw herself into a graceful pirouette, dodging a blast of spirit magic that raced toward her from down the hall. She fell into a crouch and stabbed _Hellathen _forward. A torrent of purple-white spirit magic roared from the tip of the staff, sending out a multitude of crackling bolts at her attacker. The pulsating, magma-like rage demon trembled and undulated in the air as the spirit bolts ripped through its body. It let out one last screeching roar before melting away into a puddle of molten rock and smoke.

Merrill didn't pause. She turned and threw her open hand forward, using magic to tear a portion of the ceiling down to crush an onrushing trio of wraiths. The leader of the group, wearing spiked and razor-edged battle armor, rushed forward and escaped the collapse. It floated toward Merrill with a deep growl, stretching out its hands to grab her.

Before it could, a bestial bellow drowned out all other sound and Sloth charged forward, barreling into the demon and smashing it against the barrier created by the caved-in ceiling. Its sharp fangs flashed before they sunk into the wraith's armor, crushing armor, bone, and flesh alike. The wraith screamed and burst into a cloud of noxious-smelling smoke.

Sloth snapped its jaws with a growl, then turned back to Merrill with scarlet eyes blazing. "_Hmm… It has been quite some time since I have been this active…_"

"Does it feel good?" Merrill said with a smile.

"_Not at all. I would much rather be curled up next to a warm fire back in Justice's stronghold. But… I suppose that will have to wait until later…"_

Another screeching howl sounded from further down the hall as Victory drove both her daggers into the eye sockets of a seductive-looking Desire demon. The demon screamed, then fell limp. Victory wrenched her blades free and moved back toward their position.

"_You will not have to wait long_," the spirit reassured Sloth. "_We are close now. Validation is almost within our grasp._"

The spirit's voice – if one could call it that – was tight and drawn, sounding more breathless with every demon they killed. Merrill wondered if it was simply the heat of battle sapping at her strength or the strange occurrence before they had entered the tower.

Merrill had been curled up on the ground, clutching at her stomach as bruise after bruise formed on her body, followed by cuts and burns and angry-looking welts. Justice put a comforting hand on her shoulder and tried to explain that Hawke and the others were battling her in the real world and that the damage to her real body was having an effect on her presence in the Fade. But Merrill was in too much pain to follow much of what he was saying.

But then Victory had raised her hand and closed her purple-white eyes. A pulse of green light had flashed from her hand, and suddenly all the pain was gone. Merrill had opened her eyes, blinking quickly as the agony of phantom battle wounds had vanished, the injuries upon her body miraculously mending themselves before simply fading away.

"W-what did you do?" Merrill had stammered, clambering cautiously back to her feet.

Victory had smiled, a little sadly. "_I fused part of my spirit with yours. You will now no longer feel the pain of wounds inflicted in your world while you walk in this place._"

"Are you sure that's wise?" Merrill had said. She already had one spirit stuck in her head. She didn't enjoy the thought of having another. "What if-"

Victory had interrupted her, her voice tight and strained as it was now. "Da'len_, trust me. I know what I am doing. All will be well_."

Merrill had glanced at Justice, who looked just as unconvinced as she felt. But Victory had turned and walked away, effectively ceasing any further conversation on the subject.

Now, Merrill was beginning to wish she had argued more. What exactly had Victory done? It almost seemed as if she had taken up the burdens of such pains for Merrill, transferring the battle wounds to her own person. Merrill wouldn't allow that, wouldn't allow a friend to suffer in her place.

_But is Victory truly a friend? _Merrill thought. _I suppose she is_. _I hope she is._

She was still conflicted by the fact the spirit looked exactly like Lyna, and with every minute that passed began to _act_ more like Lyna. After their first run-in with Validation's demons after Victory's forces had stormed the tower, Merrill had caught sight of the spirit cleaning her blade on the sleeve of her armor, humming to herself as those blazing purple-white eyes raked the hall for any other attackers.

Lyna used to clean her blade the same way after a hunt, eyes just as cautious and wary for predators, humming that very same tune. Merrill had been filled with a strange mix of joy and anxiety at the sight. The longer she spent with Victory, the more she began to question whether the spirit was all that she seemed.

She had voiced such concerns to Justice not long ago, while Victory was scouting ahead.

"Justice…" she had begun slowly, wringing her hands. "Is it possible that Victory is more than she appears to be?"

"_I believe I have already voiced my concerns on that subject, mortal._"

"No, no," she had quickly corrected herself. "Not that. I'm just wondering… if she could take on the appearance of my friend, Lyna… could she _be_ Lyna?"

Justice had turned his glowing eyes upon her. He had frowned, then slowly said, "_Such things are… _possible._ Spirits can fuse with the residual memories of mortal beings, changing both in the process. Why do you ask?"_

"Victory is just… _too_ similar. Is it possible—"

_"__It is possible,"_ Justice had repeated. "_But I find it highly unlikely. I believe such thoughts are borne out of a simple desire to see your friend again._"

"B-but what if it _was_ her? Would that… change something?"

"_I doubt it would. It does not change our alliance with Victory, nor does it change our goals in this tower. I suppose you may believe what you wish to believe, mortal_."

Now Victory was prowling ahead with daggers drawn. Justice was right behind her, hefting his angular Fadestone staff in his hands, wary for trouble. Sloth yawned, then padded after them. "_Come, mortal_," it called over its quill-studded shoulder. "_We are close now."_

Merrill jogged after them, her large eyes raking back and forth across the rubble-strewn hall. From somewhere deeper in the fortress, she heard something big let out a colossal roar that shook dust from the ceiling. The roar was followed by a distant boom. She raised her staff, heart pounding. "Was that her? Validation?"

Victory shook her head, tucking her daggers close to her chest. "_That was a rage demon. A powerful one, but not the beast we seek._"

They rounded a corner, stepping around a toppled statue of an armored man wearing an angular helmet. The statue had collapsed into rubble until only the man's torso and upraised arm remained. Merrill pointedly looked away lest the statue's dead gaze give her nightmares later.

She could hear sounds of battle nearby; roars and screams and the explosive discharge of magic. They were getting closer to the center of the fighting, where Victory's spirits were clashing with Validation's minions and wrestling for control of the tower. But these sounds were different, even closer than before. She heard raised voices, screaming, and approaching footsteps. Their small group prepared for battle, weapons raised and eyes sharp. Sloth stomped its feet and bared its teeth.

Around the corner came a trio of desire demons, their long dresses trailing behind them and their purple-skinned faces tight with fear. One twisted at the waist and hurled a fireball at whatever was chasing them, to no obvious effect. They sprinted past Merrill's group, taking cover behind the toppled statue and peeking over with wide eyes. Merrill's eyes widened as well when a tall, grey-skinned figure came floating around the corner, long arms stretched out at its sides like gnarled, twisted tree branches. Its face was little more than a skull with sharpened yellow teeth and long, tentacle-like tendrils draping down over its eye sockets. Long, sharp spines grew from its back, flexing and twisting around its shoulders as it approached.

"What is _that_?!" Merrill cried, her grip tightening on _Hellathen_. At the sound of her voice, the creature turned to her and let out a high-pitched screech that made Merrill double over and clap her hands over her ears.

"_Fear demon!"_ Justice called. He raised his staff and unleashed a bolt of lightning at the monster. "_We must kill it quickly!_"

It shrugged off the magic and gestured to them with a single spindly, claw-tipped finger. At its command, twin pools of neon green light sprang to life on either side of its towering form, roiling and sparking in the darkness of the hallway. Out of the pools crawled two tall figures just as lanky and emaciated as the fear demon itself. These creature sported long talons and gaping, tooth-studded maws. They crouched low to the ground, their slender, hunger-starved limbs sticking out at odd angles like the multi-joined limbs of a spider. The bones of their arms and ribs stood out starkly against their flesh, the skin stretched taut over their lanky frames like a creature that hadn't eaten in weeks.

Now _these_ creatures she knew well; terror demons, horrific slaves of this fear demon overlord. They fixed their cold, dead eyes on Merrill's group and let out warbling, high-pitched shrieks.

"_On them!"_ Victory shouted, sprinting forward with her daggers outstretched. She threw her shoulder into the nearest terror demon before it could strike her with a magical pulse that would have thrown her off her feet. The demon reared back, flailing its claws at her. She ducked the blow and stabbed her dagger up into the creature's ribcage. There was a splash of black blood and the terror demon screeched in agony. The other terror demon scrambled forward to attack but Sloth barreled into its side, knocking it to the ground and tearing into it with teeth and fangs. Black blood flew through the air and Merrill had to look away, nauseated by the sight.

To her right, Justice slammed his staff into the ground and sent a tremor through the floor that raced straight for the emaciated fear demon. As soon as it reached the monster, spiked pillars of stone erupted from the ground, piercing its body in at least ten places. The fear demon screeched and swatted at the spikes, shattering them all with one blow. Tiny fragments of sharpened Fadestone arced up into the air, sparkling in the sickly green ambient light.

The demon let out a world-rending shriek and floated resolutely forward, shrugging off all attacks that hit it. Merrill closed her eyes and reached out with her magic, hoisting up the toppled statue behind them and hurling it at the monster. The heavy stone hit it in the chest, slamming it back and crushing it against the wall. The desire demons, now bereft of cover, screamed and sprinted away out of sight, around the corner Merrill and her companions had just rounded.

"_Nicely done, mortal_," Justice panted. He threw his hands into the air and pillars of stone burst from the ground, caging the fear demon within. It screeched and clawed at its makeshift prison, but for now it was trapped. "_Come. We must regroup."_

Victory, meanwhile, ducked another slash from the terror demon before pivoting gracefully on one foot and bringing both daggers down on its elbow. The sharp weapons dug deep, severing the demon's arm with a spray of black-hued blood. The demon arched its back and screeched, sending out a pulse of magic that sent Victory flying.

Merrill charged forward, a strange, lightheaded sensation drowning out the fear that coursed through her veins. As she threw a powerful fireball at the flailing demon, she found herself wondering, _Is this what it feels like to be Hawke? To be brave? To be right in the middle of things, in the heat of battle, with your friends fighting all around you? It feels… it feels good!_

She ducked a slash from the terror demon's remaining arm before stabbing forward with _Hellathen_'s sharpened end. The staff blade pierced the demon's side and before it could move away, she sent a strong electrical charge through the shaft. The demon instantly began to convulse, its skin burning and discoloring to a dark black while smoke poured out from the stab wound in its side. It let out one last screech, then fell limp to the ground. It was dead, limbs twitching as smoke wafted lazily into the air above it.

Victory shook a loose strand of hair from her glowing eyes and stared down at the demon's corpse, nudging it with the toe of her boot. "_Good work, _da'len._ It was more ferocious than I had anticipated._"

"_Our little mortal is proving to be quite the soldier_," Justice agreed, giving her an approving nod.

Merrill blushed. "Oh, it was nothing. Just a trick Hawke taught me. Did you know she did that once to a wolf on the Wounded Coast? The pelt was ruined, so we couldn't sell it, but-"

She was interrupted by the sudden crash of shattering stone from behind them, followed by the ear-piercing screech of the fear demon. Merrill turned just in time to see a spray of dark blood erupt from Justice's chest, spraying out in a fountain of dark-hued gore that splattered against the smooth stone floor. The spirit let out a scream, clutching at the bloody front of his robes.

Then, with a sickening _crunch_, a spidery hand ripped out through his chest and he was hoisted up into the air, impaled on the fear demon's skeletal arm. The creature held him close, bringing them face-to-face before screeching at him. Its head-tentacles flailed furiously and the sharp spines growing out of its back flexed and drew closer to Justice's quivering form.

"Justice!" Merrill cried, taking a step forward to help him. She didn't make it more than two steps before a firm hand grabbed her arm, pulling her away. She spun to find Victory, eyes blazing as lightning roared around her face and shoulders.

"What are you _doing_?" Merrill shouted. "We have to save him!"

"_You can do nothing for him," _Victory responded. "_He belongs to the fear demon now. His fate is sealed."_

"No! No, we can't just give up on him!" She wrenched her arm from Victory's grasp and turned back to the demon. Justice had gone limp, the bright blue-white light in his eyes beginning to dim as dark blood dripped down the front of his robes, trailing down the demon's leathery arm in thick tendrils. Before she could move against the monster, Victory stepped in front of her and blocked her aim.

"_Is he worth risking this entire battle?" _the spirit demanded. "_If you choose to save him, Validation may escape and all this pain, all this death, will be for _nothing_. Leave him so that we can end this once and for all!"_

"You can't know that!" Merrill shouted, shoving her aside. "We don't leave people to die, Victory!"

"_Validation needs to _pay!_ Justice would understand that better than anyone!"_

"Leaving people behind is _wrong_," Merrill said through clenched teeth. She closed her eyes, summoning up all the mana she had left. She reached down to her belt and drew a short dagger she had made before the battle, hastily carved from a jagged hunk of obsidian. "If you truly wished to embody Lyna, you would agree with me."

"_I am a spirit of _victory_," _Mahariel's doppelganger hissed. "_And I will not throw away that victory to save a single spirit_! _I will not sacrifice the future of thousands to save one!"_

"No," Merrill said with a scowl. "But I will."

She reached up, then drew the dagger across her palm. The blade cut deep, but it was a familiar pain. Instantly she felt the dull ache of the wound race up her arms and through her chest, igniting something deep within her. It was as if fire had been dumped into her veins. Her eyes flashed red before she threw out both hands and unleashed a thick cloud of darkness, shot through with bolts of vivid red lightning.

Blood magic was powerful, more powerful than any other form of magical weaponry. Even here, in the Beyond. She would surround the fear demon with it, coat it with darkness, let it seep into the monster until she could corrupt it from within. She would reduce this monster to ash before she would let it hurt Justice.

"Face me, demon!" she shouted. "I am the one you want!"

"_Merrill, don't!"_ she heard Victory shout. _"It's too powerful!"_

She didn't listen. She had blood magic coursing through her veins and she was too invested to turn back now. The fear demon turned to her, then went still as the cloud of shadow and lightning enveloped it. It didn't move even as the darkness crawled up over its arms and face, obscuring it from view. After a few moments, Justice staggered out of the fog, clutching at his chest before collapsing to the stone floor. Merrill continued the assault, pouring more and more mana into the shadow cloud. If she could just keep the demon there…

Then, a voice rang out from the shadow cloud. It was dark and gravely, deep and echoing as if wafting to her from the bottom of a very deep well.

"_Hello, Merrill_."


	21. Dread's Gift

**Anders' Clinic, Darktown**

"Move aside!" Isabela barked. "Move your asses!"

The pirate queen was carrying Merrill in her arms, like a scantily-clad groom with the blushing bride. Except this blushing bride was an unconscious abomination with the ability to level the clinic with a twitch of her eyebrow. Hawke would have let out a dizzy giggle at the sight if she didn't know she was lightheaded only because she'd almost bled out all over Fenris' floor less than an hour ago.

She put a hand to her side as she limped past the single lit lantern that flanked the entrance to the Darktwon clinic. Fire still ripped through her side with every step and sticky blood soaked her armor, but the bleeding had stopped while they were still wandering through Lowtown. Thank the Maker for tiny blessings.

Anders looked up at them as Hawke and her group entered the main area of the clinic. A relieved look flashed across his face as he jogged over to them. "Thank the Maker," he sighed, gesturing toward one of the back rooms. "You can put Merrill back there. I've taken the necessary precautions now that I know what the Orlesian intends."

He put a concerned hand on Hawke's shoulder, gently peeling her hand away from her bloody ribcage. At the sight of the wound, he let out a muttered curse and said, "By the Blight, Hawke. You look like you've been mauled by a darkspawn."

"Close," Hawke said with a cough that sent a fresh spike of pain up the center of her back. "I was mauled by the elusive and dangerous Merrill."

"_She_ did this to you?"

"The demon inside her, yeah. Pinned me up against the wall and stabbed away with her dagger. Isabela said it was the kinkiest thing she'd seen all week."

Anders huffed. "Even half-dead your sense of humor is as tasteless as ever. Come on, let's sit you down. That healing potion gave you some time, but you need a true healer. Take off your shirt; I need to see your wound before I can get to work on it."

"I bet you say that to all the girls." Hawke staggered over to one of the cots set up around the room and did as she was told, collapsing onto the cot before fumbling with the laces to her battle coat. Once she was finished, she pulled the coat off and tossed it aside, leaving her only in her smallclothes from the waist up. Darktown was cold this time of night, and she shivered as goosebumps broke out across her arms and stomach.

Anders swiftly washed his hands in a nearby washbasin, calling over the young man who served as his assistant. The boy was carrying a tight bundle of medical tools under one arm. Hawke eyed them warily, still feeling dizzy from blood loss. "What exactly are you going to do with those? I've had my fill of knives tonight, thank you very much."

Anders sterilized long stitching needle with a quick blast of flame from his palm. "Healing magic can work wonders, but it doesn't do everything. You know that, Hawke. You're going to get some stitches, like it or not."

He knelt in front of Hawke while his assistant placed the tools on the cot next to her and scampered off to tend to the other patients. With soft, gentle motions, the spirit healer unwrapped Isabela's hasty bandages and took a look at the stab wound. As soon as he did, his face pulled down in a grimace and he quickly set to work threading the needle, preparing to do what he did best.

Marian could see the wound, if she craned her neck far enough. It was a series of long, ragged gashes along her side, halfway between her collar and her waistband. Dried blood caked the area, but the healing potion had stopped the bloodflow and sealed up the smaller tears in her side. What was left was a mess of twisted and sliced flesh covering an area about the size of her palm.

Anders surveyed this all at the same time before shaking his head with a weary sigh. "Maker you're a sight, Marian."

"Gee, thanks," she shot back. "You don't look too bad yourself."

"You know what I mean. Why would you purposefully take on an abomination face-to-face? You're no good to Merrill dead, you know."

"I've fought abominations before." Hawke sucked in a tight breath as she felt Anders' needle pierce her side, tugging at the skin.

"You know this isn't the same thing. Merrill didn't turn into some three-meter-tall monster hell-bent on world domination. This is a whole different game entirely."

"Is it?" Hawke groaned, fidgeting at the pain in her side. "I had no idea."

Anders gently slapped her arm, warning her to stay still. "I'm serious, Marian. You can't go at this like you usually do, setting things on fire and making bad puns while you do it. You need to take this seriously."

"You think I don't know that? You think – _ow_ – that I'm not taking this seriously? Merrill is my friend, Anders. I'm taking this as seriously as I would if _you_ were possessed."

"Missed your chance, I'm afraid," Anders grunted, tugging at the stitches. Hawke flinched and cursed at him, but he ignored her. "I just had the good sense to invite in a spirit that _didn't_ want to murder my friends."

"That remains to be seen," Hawke said. They sat in silence for a time, listening to Hawke's labored breathing and the gentle murmur of conversation from the other room. She eventually looked down at her friend and said, "So what was Leliana planning this whole time?"

Anders froze, then set to work again like nothing had happened. "She told me what she and her companions did at Redcliffe, exorcising the Arl's son and killing the demon that possessed him. I had heard tales of what happened there, but I never really believed it."

"Right. But _what_ did you never really believe? What's our Lady Nightingale planning?"

Anders sighed. "She had me empty out my entire supply of lyrium and mix it into a concoction I'd only read about back in the Circle in Ferelden. Oh, if Irving could see me now…"

He pulled another stitch tight and continued, "She plans to have one of our resident mages drink the concoction. It'll put the person into a trance and their consciousness will be transported directly to the Fade. Like dreaming, only they'll be lucid the whole time. Able to think and see and-"

"And kill demons," Hawke finished. She let out a long breath, then flinched as Anders scolded her for moving again. "If we can send someone in, they can kill Merrill's demon from the Fade and force her into the real world! That should leave Merrill free and clear to live a long and demon-free life!"

Anders nodded. "You left out the hundreds of pages worth of magical theory, hypothetical attack points, and experiments regarding demonic influence in the Fade and beyond, but you're essentially correct. If we sever the demon's hold over Merrill's mind, it will have nowhere to go but out."

Hawke let out a relieved laugh and ran a hand through her hair. After all this fighting and scheming, Leliana had finally come through! They now had a concrete plan to get their young Dalish friend back to normal for good! She shook her head, hardly believing it. "I have to say, I'm impressed with Leliana. I thought she was trying to trick us again."

"Don't get too excited," he said. "I've seen this kind of ritual before. In the Circle, we call it a Harrowing. It's a kind of rite-of-passage ritual for all young mages, though I've never seen it used to exorcise abominations. Many mages I saw subjected to the Harrowing returned as abominations themselves. They were murdered by Templars soon after."

"The Templars forced them into this ritual, then killed them for failing?"

Anders let out a spiteful laugh. "The margin for error in the Circle is very, very small."

Hawke pondered over this, then said, "I guess it's a good thing we have no Templars here to ruin our plans, then."

"Amen to that." Anders leaned forward and cut the stitches with his teeth. Hawke let out a cry of pain as the stitches tugged tight against her skin, but the pain was quickly soothed away by a wash of sky-blue light that began to glow from Anders' hands. She grimaced when the pain finally eased and Anders straightened again, grabbing a fresh roll of bandages and wrapping them tight around Hawke's midsection. Once done, he patted her on the shoulder and stepped away.

"You can put your shirt back on," he said, turning back to the washbasin. His hands were stained with Hawke's blood. "And try not to aggravate the wound any further. If you make me stitch that mess up a second time, I swear I'll just cauterize it with a hot blade and be done with it."

Hawke snorted. "I've never seen a man so eager to get rid of a half-naked woman sitting in front of him."

"Please, Hawke. I'm acting as your physician."

"Fancy way of saying he wants to play doctor, sweet thing," Isabela called from the doorway.

Anders glared at her, scrubbing furiously at his bloodied hands. "Where did you even come from?"

The pirate queen sauntered over, resting her hands on her hips. "You know how I love to eavesdrop. And everyone in the other room is being so insufferably worrisome. It's getting hard to think straight in there."

Hawke pulled her heavy leather overcoat back over her shoulders, lacing up the front and adjusting the bulky metal shoulder plate. Her ribs throbbed, but she could thankfully move much better than before. Anders was good at his job, and Hawke would have trusted no one else to stitch her up.

"So this ritual," she said, straightening and leaning heavily on her staff as she rose to her feet. "When do we begin?"

"As soon as I'm ready."

Hawke narrowed her eyes at the healer. "As soon as _you're _ready?"

He nodded, drying off his hands. "I've already survived one Harrowing. I'm familiar with demonic attempts at persuasion and seduction. I've resisted it before, and I can resist it now."

"This coming from the man who _already_ has a demon in his head?" Isabela scoffed. "Sorry, Feathers, but I'm not buying it. Let Hawke go."

Hawke nodded. "I agree. If anyone is going into the Fade to get Merrill, it's me."

"Marian-"

"I was the one who got Merrill into this whole mess. It'll be me who pulls her out of it."

"I can't just let you waltz into the Fade and openly risk _you_ getting possessed as well," Anders argued. "Just look at what Merrill did to you. _Merrill_! The girl you've repeatedly said is the elven incarnation of a kicked puppy. Can you imagine what a demon could do if it got ahold of someone as destructive and pyromaniacal as you?

"So I like to set things on fire. That'll actually _help_ in there!" Hawke glared at him. "What would you do? Throw copies of your manifesto at the demons and hope they run away screaming?"

"Hawke…"

"No," she said forcefully. "I'm going in there and that's final."

She brushed past the healer, walking with Isabela toward the door leading into Merrill's room. They hadn't gotten far before Anders' voice called them back.

"_Wait_."

They both froze. Something was different about the voice. It was deeper, more gravelly, like someone had taken Anders' voice and hidden it behind the growl of a wolf. Hawke slowly turned to find that Anders' eyes had been consumed by pale blue light. Lightning crackled just under his skin and blue-white fire consumed his hands up to the elbow.

Marian glanced at Isabela before grabbing her staff as a precautionary measure. The last time she had seen Anders like this, he killed an entire strike team of Templars all on his own and almost leveled part of the Kirkwall Chantry in the process. How they had escaped that mess, she still didn't know.

But Anders was just staring at them now with that unblinking blue gaze. His hands were limp and his head was cocked slightly to one side, watching them closely. Hawke raised her staff, taking a slow step back toward the mage.

"Anders?" she said. When he didn't respond, she licked her lips and tried again. "Or… is it Justice?"

That magic-infused gaze snapped to her now, and a frown creased Anders' face. "_It is Justice. It is good to finally meet you, Marian."_

"Yeah…" Hawke said slowly. "Likewise. Though I must admit, seeing my doctor turn into a one-man lightshow is a little disconcerting."

Justice ignored the quip. "_That is not my concern. I must be brief; I do not have much time._"

Hawke glanced at Isabela again before replacing her staff to its sling across her back. Isabela, however, did not lower her trusty dueling daggers. Her jaw was clenched, muscles straining as the piratess prepared to leap into action at a moment's notice.

"What's going on, Justice? Does this have something to do with Merrill?"

"_Yes_."

Hawke's heart skipped a beat. The spirit knew something? She took a step forward, instinctively reaching out to put a hand on Anders' shoulder. One look at the blue fire racing up his arms and she quickly thought better of it. "You have information about Merrill?" she pressed. "Do you know where she is? Is she safe?"

"_She is not_," Justice growled. "_We are attempting to bring her back home from our world, but she has fallen into the clutches of an ancient and powerful fear demon. She will not last long under his influence."_

Hawke's heart seemed to stop completely now, ice flooding her veins. "What? Can't you do something?"

"_I am trying, but the demon is… exceptionally powerful. I fear I do not have the strength to allay Merrill's fears. We need the assistance of one who does."_

He gestured to the door where they were keeping Merrill. "_I know of your plan to send one of your own into the Fade to assist your friend. I support the notion, but you must hurry. We are slowing the demon, but we cannot hold it back forever. Whatever you intend to do, do it now."_

Isabela hit Hawke's shoulder. "You heard the creepy glowing man. Get in there, before it's too late!"

Marian nodded and set off, a determined scowl pulling at her face. "Isabela, stay here and keep an eye on Anders. You're in charge of things until I get back. And _no_ drinking."

Isabela pouted, but Hawke could see how serious she was behind the façade of girlish defiance. "All right, but only because you ordered nicely."

Hawke pushed open the door to Merrill's room and quickly took stock of the situation. Merrill was lying on the cot, arms and legs still bound. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing peacefully. Varric was sitting next to the bed, patting her hand and telling her one of his world-famous ghost stories in hushed tones. Aveline and Fenris were standing at the foot of the bed, deep in conversation. Hawke could guess how it went: Fenris wanted to kill Merrill and be done with it, while Aveline was urging the elf to be patient and follow Hawke's lead. It wasn't the first time the two had been through that particular argument.

Leliana stood by a shallow bowl of unfamiliar-looking liquid, which was glowing bright blue and lighting up the dark room with stark highlights. The bard was staring into its depths with a distracted gaze, her mind obviously far away. Hawke was pleased to see that her daggers were safely sheathed, her bow slung over her back. She obviously had no plans to attack anyone, at least not at the moment.

Everyone looked to her as she entered, obviously waiting on what she had to say. She hesitated, staring down at Merrill with a tight sensation in her chest. The woman looked so small and frail, her face drained of all color and her hands clenched tightly over her chest. She was growing weaker the longer they waited. Marian knew they didn't have much time before the little elf was beyond their help. They needed to kill this demon and kill it fast.

"All right," Hawke finally said, aware of everyone's eyes upon her. "We're going to get this ritual underway, no matter what Anders says."

She turned to the others. "There's no time to give a long, windy speech. But before I go diving into the Fade, I just want to say… you all are good people for putting up with this. Not many friends would go to such lengths to help each other out." She glanced toward Fenris and added, "Some of you may not be doing it happily, but you're contributing nonetheless. It means a lot to me, and I know it means a lot to Merrill."

She clenched her hands into fists. "As soon as I'm under, you need to move both me and Merrill into the main room. Isabela will work on getting the other patients to a safe place. When Merrill and I kill the demon in her mind, there's a good chance it'll come spewing into our world. Be ready for a hairy fight when that happens.

"Varric," she said, "I want you to get Merrill to safety once the fighting starts. Make sure she's someone out of sight, where the demon can't find her. Then get as far away as possible and put Bianca to good use. Leliana will join you, providing support from a distance."

The dwarf nodded, reaching down and giving the weapon an affectionate pat on the stock. "You said my favorite words, Hawke. We'll be ready."

"Aveline," she continued, turning to the redheaded guardswoman, "you'll be our main defender. When it comes out, keep the demon's attention at all costs. I don't care if you have to stand on your head and squawk like a chicken. Just keep its attention focused on you."

The guard captain rubbed at her chin. "They never taught us how to fight demons in the army, but I'll give it my best. If it can live in this world, it can die in this world too."

"Good. Fenris, your job will be to join up with Isabela and do as much damage to this thing as possible. Hit it from the back and sides; you know the drill. I'm sure you and your sword are up to the task?"

The white-haired elf nodded, clenching a lyrium-tattooed fist. "It won't know what hit it. It still owes me for knocking in my front door."

Hawke nodded. "There's the Fenris we all know and love."

She turned to all of them. "I'm proud of you all. I just want you to know that. In case… In case things don't go according to plan…"

Varric scoffed. "With you at the helm? What could possibly go wrong?"

"Don't jinx it. This will be tough enough as it is without you tempting fate."

"I was being sarcastic, Broody."

Aveline ignored the two, holding Hawke's gaze with a determined frown. "We'll keep things secure, Hawke. You can count on us."

Hawke nodded. "I know I can. There's no one else I'd rather have at my side through all of this. And I know Merrill would feel the same."

"Aw, Hawke," Varric chuckled, waving her off. "Stop it before you make me blush."

"Merrill is our friend," she continued. "She only got drawn into this mess because she wanted to help us, the people she sees as family. Now it's our turn to return the favor, to stand up to this demon and tell it that Merrill is _our _friend. That she's part of _our_ family. That she belongs to _us_."

She clapped her hands, feeling far more afraid than she looked. "So are we all ready to go demon hunting?"

Varric grinned and applauded while Aveline snapped off an old military salute and Fenris just folded his arms with a scowl. Leliana flashed Hawke a rare smile and nodded reassuringly, holding out the bowl of lyrium concoction. Hawke reached out and took it with surprisingly steady hands.

"It comes far too late," the bard said, almost too quietly to hear, "but I am glad I did not manage to kill you, Marian."

Hawke managed a nervous smile. "I'm glad you didn't manage to kill me too."

"Good luck," the bard said, then stepped back into the shadows.

Hawke looked down into the bowl with a nervous gulp. She had never been in the Fade before, knew next to nothing about it besides the tales her father used to tell her as a girl. If those tales were any indicator, this would be one strange trip. She wasn't looking forward to the journey, but she wouldn't allow anyone else to make the trip in her place.

The liquid pulsed in the bowl, flashing blue-white light into her eyes with a strangely hypnotic rhythm. She licked her dry lips, then glanced up at the others and murmured, "See you all on the other side."

"Happy trails, Hawke," Varric replied, looking just as nervous as she felt.

Hawke nodded and brought the bowl to her mouth. The lyrium was cold against her lips, like all of winter had been distilled down into water. It froze as it passed down her throat, instantly racing through her veins and out to her fingers and toes. She grimaced at the sensation and forced herself to drink more.

_If I don't see Justice or Merrill as soon as I wake up in the Fade, _she thought as she choked down the draft, _demons will be the least of Justice's worries._

The cold sensation began to sting now, sending tiny slivers of pain through her body. She closed her eyes and forced herself to continue drinking. She was aware of the lyrium glowing even brighter, pulsing faster. Sensation began to bleed away, uncomfortably close to the sensation when Merrill was stabbing her. Was this what death felt like?

Her breath was coming in short gasps now, heart pounding in her chest. She couldn't feel her feet or her fingers, but she continued drinking. She had to keep drinking. She couldn't stop now.

Her ears began to ring, a shrill tone that made her head hurt. She squeezed her eyes shut and downed the last swallow, feeling it form into a hard ball of ice in the pit of her stomach. She stood still, shivering hands clenched into fists as she felt winter course through her veins. Her skin stung with every slight motion now, head spinning and stomach lurching. She felt like she was falling through the pitch darkness, tumbling end over end. When she opened her eyes, she found that the world around her was just as black as the inside of her eyelids.

Her heart began to pound faster. What had happened? Something was wrong. This couldn't be how it was supposed to be. Her breathing quickly turned into panting, fists clenching and unclenching as she looked around for something to guide her through the endless blackness.

There was nothing.

She was still tumbling, falling through the dark. Just before she let out one final scream, she heard Varric's voice, echoing toward her as if from far, far away.

"_Hawke!"_

* * *

"_Hello, Merrill."_

In an instant, all was plunged into darkness. Victory, Justice, Sloth, and the entire hallway dissolved into ash, leaving her standing alone amidst a whirlwind of shadow. The only illumination came from a pillar of light that pierced the center of the whirlwind, lighting up the rocky ground where Merrill now stood. She cried out in fear and surprise, her blood magic tapering off as she clutched _Hellathen _close to her chest.

"_What are you doing in this place, Merrill? _Garas quenathra, lethallan?"

She shrank back, feeling the sensation of thousands of eyes upon her. She couldn't let this fear demon win. She would never let it steal her mind, not like Validation had. "H-how do you know my name?"

"_I know many things about you, Merrill_," the voice said. It let out a deep chuckle, joined by a distant clap of thunder. "_Do you not know who I am? I am Dread, dear Merrill. I am your every fear made flesh."_

"I... I don't believe you! You're just a demon, like all the others."

"_Oh yes. I am indeed a demon. But I am _nothing_ like all the others."_

She felt a soft touch along the back of her neck, a gentle caress that made her squeak and spin toward the touch. Nothing was there. The voice purred, obviously pleased with her terror. "_I can see your every fear, young one. Your every worry, your every waking horror. Do you wish to see them with me? To know yourself better through your fears?"_

The darkness around her rippled, and something moved in the blackness. Merrill shrank back, raising her staff. A bright light sprang from the crystal head, but it did nothing to chase away the darkness. What was moving? The demon? Validation? Or could it possibly be something far, far worse? Before she could decide, the darkness was ripped away and a spider the size of a horse charged for her, its many-joined legs skittering over the ground as it gnashed its mandibles and screeched. Merrill screamed and covered her eyes, turning away in hopes that it would miss her and-

And as soon as it drew close enough to strike it exploded into a cloud of shadow that wafted over her in a frigid gust of wind. She whimpered and clutched her staff close, as if it was her only hope of escaping this awful place.

"_Merrill, Merrill, Merrill," _the demon sighed._ "Aren't you a little old to be afraid of spiders?"_

Her eyes widened as she looked around for the demon. "Stop playing games with me. Let me go!"

"_Let you go?"_ its voice was incredulous. "_But we've only begun to play, my dear. Come now, it is your turn. Suggest a game, and let us play."_

Merrill squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to clear her mind, to not think of anything. The more she tried, though, the harder it became.

_Just think of happy things, then_, she thought, still keeping her eyes shut. _Puppies and flowers and Hahren Paivel's stories, Pol's songs during long trips in the aravels…_

_"__Lost friends_," the demon hissed in her ear. "_Long gone. Never to return. They never loved you, you know. Not even when you found that statue to June the craftmaster in the woods, lost for centuries. You were always a burden, always the weak link in the great Dalish chain."_

_Ignore it_, she thought. _Don't listen to it. Think about the smell of fresh-buttered bread and the taste of fresh spring strawberries. Think about how the flowers in the mountain pass will be blooming, and the birds will have little chicks all peeping for their mothers…_

_"__Such beauty holds no meaning here, dear one_," it said, continuing its onslaught. "_Do you really think flowers grow in the Fade? They are wilted and dead, trampled under the feet of demons and monsters. The baby chicks here starve through endless winter, waiting for food from mothers who will never return back to their roost, just as your mother never returned to you?"_

"Shut up!" she shouted, covering her ears. _Don't listen to it. Think about only happy things. Think about how glad everyone will be when you manage to kill this demon. Think about the smile on Victory's face and the way Hawke and Varric will cheer and order everyone drinks and—_

The demon interrupted her. "_A vision of the future, then? As you wish."_

Strong arms suddenly wrapped around her neck and she screamed in terror. She whirled, trying to dislodge the heavy weight that had pressed against her back. The arms tightened, crushing the breath from her. Gasping for breath, she hunched her back and twisted, throwing the heavy weight from her back. A familiar face staggered into what little light she could see. It was an elf, with a tattooed face and blue-black armor. Her eyes blazed with light and her raven-black hair was disheveled. A crooked grin stretched across her face.

Merrill's eyes widened. "V-Victory?"

The spirit laughed, throwing her head back. But Merrill instantly saw that it was not Victory; where once purple-white lightning had arced around her graceful hands and crackled out from her eyes, the discharge was now an unhealthy red. Her skin was a pale grey and her armor was dirty, torn, and soaked in blood.

"_If that is what you wish to call me,_" Victory laughed. "_Lyna Mahariel, Victory, Domination. It makes no difference to me. Different names for the same face, different faces for the same name. I am beyond such petty cares now that I have my mistress Validation looking after me."_

"No," Merrill said, tears welling up in her eyes. "No, no, no. You _hate_ Validation!"

"_Nothing could be farther from the truth!"_ the spirit insisted. "_We are very old friends. She cares for me, keeps me safe in this dark and evil place. And in return, I give her things she wants. Like you."_

"No, no, no. This is a trick," she whimpered. "This has to be a trick. It's just Dread, trying to get in my head."

"_Oh, how I wish it was_," Victory said with a sympathetic frown. "_Poor, sweet, naïve Merrill. Without you to stop her, Validation killed us all. Justice, Sloth, Valor. I survived by pledging my service to Validation. She gave me a very _special _gift. Do you know what it was?"_

The shadows shifted again and another figure stepped forward. It was a woman, almost a whole head taller than Victory with her head bowed and her long black hair obscuring her face. Merrill stared at her, uncomprehending for a single moment. Then her heart fluttered in her chest when the woman looked up and revealed glassy grey eyes and a long scar stretching down the right side of her face.

"Hawke!"

"_Yes,"_ Victory said, trailing a finger down Hawke's armored shoulder. "_A very own human of my own, to play with as I saw fit. But like all good toys…"_

Victory made a pouting face as she reached up and brushed Hawke's hair from her face. Merrill's eyes raked over Hawke's features, looking for some sign of recognition, some sign that the heroic mage was here to save her. But Marian wouldn't so much as talk, standing dumbly next to Victory with a blank expression on her face, like she was lost in thought.

Then Merrill saw it: the graceful curvature of the Chantry sunburst, branded into the flesh of Hawke's forehead. The brand of Tranquility.

Everything else in the world ceased to matter. She stared, dumbfounded, at the brand. All the blood in her face drained away and her knees buckled. _It can't be true. It _can't _be true! Creators, please let it not…_

Victory sighed and brushed Hawke's hair behind her ear as she finished, "…_someone came along and broke her."_

"No," Merrill moaned. She fell to her knees, arms going limp at her sides. "No… not her!"

"_I tried to get her to behave herself,"_ Victory said, in that same pouty tone, "_but the abomination she became was… unstable. Destructive. Her friends were the first ones she killed, poor things. Never seen such carnage in all my eons. Especially that short one, Varric. She ripped out his tongue first, if I recall. Put an end to all those outlandish tales of his."_

Merrill wrapped her arms around herself, hunched over as uncontrollable sobs wracked her body. _Hellathen _clattered to the ground, slipping from her limp fingers. Hawke just continued to stare ahead with that lifeless silver gaze. Victory stroked the mage's hair with a regretful sigh. "_I guess that'll teach me to be more careful with my playthings next time."_

"Why?" Merrill sobbed, tears falling from her cheeks. "Why _her_? Why did you have to take _her_?"

Hawke finally spoke. Her voice was just as lifeless as her eyes, devoid of any kind of inflection or emotion. "Do not cry for me, Merrill. I am at peace now. No more demons can hurt me. It is safer for everyone."

"B-but what about _me?_" Merrill gasped, reaching out and grabbing for Hawke's hand. It was pale and cold beneath her fingers. "Y-you said… you said we were going to pick more flowers. And we were going to visit your old farm in Lothering, and go to the Brecilian Forest where I grew up, and… you weren't going to _end up_ like this! You _promised_!"

Hawke slowly pulled her hand away, her movements jerky and stiff, like a puppet on strings. "I'm sorry, Merrill."

She broke down again, burying her face in her hands as she knelt at Hawke's feet. Everything was _gone_. It was _gone_, just like when Lyna had vanished and this time it wasn't going to get better. Hawke was Tranquil, the others were dead… all because she hadn't been there to help them. Because she had been drawn into Validation's clutches like a fat, stupid fly drawn to a spider's web.

"_There it is,_" the demon purred. "_The fear that you hide deep down within. The fear of letting others down. The fear of actually being the failure they claim you are. The fear of trying to help and only making things worse for everyone."_

"I'm sorry," she whimpered through her hands. "I'm so sorry, Hawke. I could have saved you. I could have _saved you_…"

"You could not have saved me, Merrill. It was always going to end this way."

"_Do you see it now, Merrill? The source of your fears? The source of your turmoil? Hawke left you, just like Marethari and Lyna and your parents before her. She _abandoned _you, just when you needed her most. Do you see now the scars that left?"_

Merrill's breath hitched and she stopped crying for a moment. What had the monster said? Scars… She slowly looked up to Victory and Hawke once more with the memories of an earlier conversation suddenly washing back to her.

"_You have seen much strife in your time, young one," _Justice had told her,_ "and have had many injustices done upon you. Such occurrences leave scars upon the psyche. These scars are all interconnected and stem from a single source, like the epicenter of a fractured mirror._"

Her eyes slowly widened and she looked up to Hawke with dawning realization. Justice's words continued to return to her. She could hear him, as clearly as if he was speaking directly to her now.

"_Validation feeds upon emotional turmoil," _he had said,_ "anchoring herself to a powerful source of contention within her host. Until you find that source of contention, young mortal, Validation's control upon your mind will be too strong to break."_

The demon's voice boomed around her again, but this time it was soft. Pressing. Urgent.

"_Do you see, little Merrill? Do you see what waits for you?"_

She nodded, sniffing and wiping at her wide eyes. With trembling fingers, she reached out and scooped _Hellathen _back into her palm. "I…" her voice was shaking. "I-I do. I know what Validation plans to do."

"_Good. Then you are learning. You must hurry if you are to do what you are destined to do."_

"I don't…" she stared up into the dark whirlwind. "_Why_? Why did you do this? Why fight us only to… to help me now?"

There was a dark chuckle from the shadows. "_The greatest lessons cannot be taught in peaceful conversation. The most telling trials are trials by fire. You have passed yours."_

"B-but… but why? Why help Validation in the first place?"

"_A very dangerous woman once said, 'one expects a knife to strike from the front or back, but never from the side.' That is a very wise sentiment, and one that Validation has never thought to heed."_

Victory reached forward and shoved at her shoulder. "_Go, now! Free yourself from Validation's grasp, and us along with you!_"

"Safe travels, Merrill," Hawke droned, eyes still fixed straight ahead.

Merrill stepped back, taking one last look at Marian's cold, lifeless gaze before turning her back. She clutched _Hellathen _tight, walking for the edge of the shadowy whirlwind. She looked up into the blackness and said, "Before I go… promise me it was all a trick. Promise me that none of this was real."

"_I cannot do that, young one_," Dread rumbled.

"T-then it's true? Victory is truly corrupted? And Hawke…"

"_In a manner. It is a prediction of the future. A premonition of what will happen should you fail."_

Merrill squeezed her eyes shut at the thought, then stepped into the whirlwind. Before everything faded away, she heard the demon let out one last dark chuckle and whisper, "_Sweet dreams, dear Merrill."_

* * *

The fear demon suddenly arched back and let out a deafening screech. There was a blast of pale green light that sent all staggering, shaking the ground beneath their feet. A pulse of magical discharge blasted them, knocking Merrill off her feet and sending her sprawling amid razor-sharp rocks and chunks of the shattered statue. She cried out in pain as the magical explosion slowly subsided.

She blinked, rubbing at her eyes as she clambered back to her feet. When the nauseous green light finally faded, the fear demon was nowhere to be seen. Victory – her skin tone back to normal and her usual purple-white lightning arcing across her arms once more – slowly picked herself up off the ground, daggers clenched tight in her hands.

"_Where did it go?"_ she muttered. "_Why did it leave?"_

Sloth shook its shaggy coat, dust falling in thick clouds from its fur. It rested back on its haunches and inspected one paw with bleary, lazy eyes. "_I do not know… perhaps it simply grew bored of toying with our young mortal friend… and decided it would rather spend the time sleeping."_

_"__That's what _you_ would rather be doing."_

Merrill said nothing, for she had eyes only for the other figure clambering up from the ground, leaning heavily on a carved wooden staff capped by an amber-hued lyrium crystal. The new figure shook a wayward strand of raven-black hair from her eyes and coughed, holding her side.

"Well," the new woman sighed, "that was definitely more exciting than I had anticipated. Is this all in a day's work for you demons, or are you as lost as I am?"

Merrill's face broke into a joyous smile and she charged forward, throwing her arms around the woman's waist and hugging her as tightly as she could. She felt solid and whole and _real_ in her arms, and she smelled of warm blood, sweat, and the sharp tang of magical discharge. Merrill had never been so glad to smell something so foul.

"Hawke!" she cried, hugging the mage – if possible – even tighter. She buried her face in the human's strong shoulder, weeping tears of joy into the thick leather armor. In her mindless happiness, she forgot to even speak in the human's tongue, crying out, "_Aneth ara, lethallan! Fenedhis lasa, ir sulahn'nehn somniar ma, ma vhenan!"_

"Merrill?" Hawke stiffened at the sudden joyful attack, then let out a laugh and hugged her back. "I don't know what even half of that meant, but it's good to see you again!"

She pulled back, putting her hands on either side of Merrill's face and raking that vivid steel gaze over her features. "Maker, you're a sight for sore eyes. Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

Merrill laughed, blushing furiously now that her earlier words caught up with her. She was glad Hawke hadn't understood what she'd said, as it would have been most embarrassing. Over Marian's shoulder, she could see Victory narrow her eyes; she obviously _had_ understood Merrill's words. Thankfully, the spirit said nothing.

Hawke was still fussing over her, so Merrill gently reached up and removed the human's calloused hands from her cheeks. "I'm fine, _lethallan_. Better than ever, now that you're here."

"Yeah, finally," Hawke rolled her eyes. "You gave us quite a show on the other side of the Veil. Took a hell of an effort to get here."

She looked up around her, at the dark stone that surrounded her and the crumbling statues and demon corpses. "Though now that I mention it," she murmured, "I'm not even sure where _here_ is."

Merrill smiled and squeezed Hawke's hand. "Come on. I'll explain everything."

* * *

_Author's Note: I still have no godly idea how I'm managing to write so much so quickly. But, if all goes to plan, Chapter 6 should be the last chapter of the story. We're almost there!_

_Oh, and as a side-note, Merrill's burst of elvish roughly translates to, "Shit am I glad to see you, my love." Just for those who are curious and/or have no desire to translate it themselves. ;)_


	22. Reunited

The sounds of battle were still raging as they moved further into the tower. There was no further sign of Dread or other fear demons, yet Hawke could tell they were moving into dangerous territory. She could sense they were getting close to their ultimate destination at the top of the tower; through the shattered windows and ripped-apart walls, the shore of the Black Lake beneath them growing more and more distant. She could hear the sound of thunder rolling in over the din of battle.

As they went, Merrill filled her in on everything that had happened since she had been dropped into the Fade, seemingly so long ago. The little elf barely paused for breath the whole time, holding Hawke's hand tight in her own as if afraid that if she let go, Hawke would vanish as quickly as she had appeared.

"And then Sloth agreed to come with me to the tower," the elf said, "and we all wound up here!"

Hawke let out a long breath. "You've been busy, Merrill. Varric will be over the moon to hear about it all."

"You think so? I hope so. Do you think he'll let me drink from the Hanged Man's storyteller mug? Or… you know, let me drink at all?"

"After all of this," Hawke said, stepping over a rocky outcropping of green-black rock, "I think he'll _give_ you the mug. I'm not sure anyone's ever seen anything like this before."

"And now you're here with me!" Merrill said. She squeezed Hawke's hand. "It's… it's so good to have you here, Hawke."

"_Yes," _Victory called from the front of the group. "_It is so good to have yet another mortal drop unexpectedly into our midst."_

Justice glared at her. His chest was stained with black blood and his feathered pauldrons were ruffled, but he was otherwise fine. "_I see now that the fear demon posed no threat to us, Victory, but I know of this mortal's deeds. Her presence can only make our group stronger."_

"I've been meaning to ask about that," Hawke said. "I saw you impaled on that demon's arm. How are you still alive?"

"_The Fade is not like your world, mortal,"_ Justice replied coolly. "_Physical wounds affect us differently."_

"So… it didn't hurt you?" Merrill asked. "I wish everyone was as resilient."

Justice craned his neck, adjusting his robes. "_I did not say I was uninjured. Just that it would take much more than the fury of a fear demon to kill me."_

"So what can kill spirits?" When both Justice and Victory glared at her, Hawke raised her hands and said, "I'm only asking out of curiosity. We are going to be trying to kill one, after all. If betting spiked through the chest isn't enough to put you down, what can?"

"_The most common way spirits are killed,_" Justice slowly explained, "_is by being unwillingly summoned to your world. Such a violent upheaval severs our connection with the Fade. Often, the resulting trauma corrupts a spirit and transforms it into a demon."_

"If the demon is killed in the real world," Merrill supplied, "it dies. Its connection to the Beyond is cut off and it wastes away. Nothing is left to hold it to what it once was."

"Just like that?" Hawke asked. "They just… die?"

"_Not quite,"_ Victory said. "_A spirit can never truly die. When killed, a spirit's life energies are sent back to the Fade. When they are sent back, everything they were – everything by which they lived – is erased. Yet there is a chance that they may be reborn, regenerating with no memory and no ties to their past. A blank slate by which to begin anew."_

_"__A frightful fate to any spirit,"_ Sloth grumbled. "_To lose everything you are… is the stuff of nightmares."_

"Then what's the point of all of this? If Validation is just going to come back…"

"_Validation was not always a demon,_" Justice reminded her. "_Many here remember her when she was still young and unsullied by pride. At her birth, she was… beautiful and kind. A spirit of modesty. As eons passed, she became angry at being constantly overshadowed by others. That fury corrupted her, made her thirst for the satisfaction of being superior to her fellows. She became a demon consumed by pride. Validation."_

Merrill frowned, staring at her feet. She was suddenly reminded of the flowers Hawke had sent her, which were still sitting dead on her dinner table. "It always makes me sad. To see something beautiful and innocent being corrupted like that."

"_She will show you no such pity_," Victory growled. "_I would recommend you strike such thoughts from your mind_."

Hawke squeezed Merrill's hand reassuringly. "It'll be all right, Merrill. We'll get through this together."

"I wouldn't have it any other way, Hawke."

Victory narrowed her eyes again, but once again said nothing. Merrill could hear voices coming from further down the hall. Unlike before, however, these voices were calm and level, with no screams or sounds of fighting.

"It must be a rally point," Hawke said, obviously hearing the sounds as well. She'd picked up some military jargon from Aveline and Carver, which must have come in handy now. "If this truly is a battle for the tower, the good soldiers must gather somewhere."

"_I sense that they are friendly spirits,"_ Victory said. "_It should be the forward assault team led by Valor."_

"Can we trust them?" Hawke asked. "I'm not sure I want to put my faith in any of the creatures in this place."

"_I'm not sure I wish to trust any creature from _your_ realm," _Victory pointed out with a scowl. "_Yet here I am, helping another stranded mortal."_

Merrill frowned at the spirit, wondering what had caused her suddenly antagonistic behavior. She wasn't sure Victory liked Hawke very much; she had been glaring at the mage ever since her sudden appearance in the hall earlier. The two had barely traded words after Merrill had explained their situation to the lost and hopelessly confused human, and the tension between the two seemed to only be growing as time passed. Thankfully, Sloth quickly defused the situation.

"_We all must put our faith," _he groaned, "_in those we would usually watch with distaste and contempt. I myself find the very idea of… all this _walking_… to be absolutely abhorrent_._"_

The bear-like creature lumbered over a fallen pillar, sniffing at the corpse of a fallen desire demon propped up against the toppled stone. "_If I can… force myself to trudge through this abominable place… you two can force yourselves to get along."_

Victory was still staring at Hawke with barely-concealed malice. The spirit clenched her hands into fists as they marched down the rubble-strewn hall, but thankfully let the matter rest. Hawke looked like she was more than ready to keep arguing, but Merrill elbowed her in the ribs and the mage grudgingly let the matter drop.

As they drew closer to the sounds of conversation, Merrill saw that this area of the tower had already been secured by Victory's spirits. Wraiths lined the halls, staring at the passerby with ghostly green eyes. As they drew closer to a knot of spirits standing in the center of the hall, the heavily-armored figure of Valor stepped forward, his spectral armor splattered with black blood. He pounded a fist against his chest plate in salute as he approached. Two similarly armored spirits flanked him on either side. Merrill smiled at the sight of them; Valor spirits had always been kind to her in the past.

"_Mistress Victory_," the soldier spirit boomed from within the confines of his helmet, "_our forces are facing fierce resistance from Validation's demons. We have this floor secure, but the courtyard is still a constant battle. Validation has sent a trio of pride demons to reinforce her position there. Nothing we have can stand against those monsters. Fear demons are surely to follow, and terror demons after them. Our wraiths and wisps cannot stand against such darkness."_

Victory nodded, rubbing at her tattooed chin. "_What of the tower itself?"_

_"__The levels above us are sure to be the sight of a terrible battle. They are crawling with demons all swarming to converge on the courtyard. If we are lucky, we could send forces to clear a path to Validation. Unfortunately, we cannot hold the tower and the courtyard at the same time. One must be abandoned to hold the other."_

"So we have to choose between a safe route to the villain or a safe way out?" Hawke shook her head. "Shit, I hate decisions like this."

"_Watch your language in front of the little mortal,"_ Sloth warned.

Valor sighed, his armor clanking as he flexed his shoulders. _"What are your orders, mistress? Shall we commit our forces to breaking through to Validation, or securing the courtyard?"_

_"__Send all your available forces to the courtyard,"_ Victory said immediately. "_I want Validation's eye fixed upon you. Our only hope of gaining an advantage over her is if we take her by surprise. If she sees the true purpose of our presence here, or senses the two mortals accompanying us, all is lost."_

Valor hesitated. "_Mistress, continued attacks on the courtyard will only draw more of Validation's minions to that location. Our forces will be overwhelmed."_

_"__I am well aware of that."_

"What?" Merrill stared between the two spirits, letting go of Hawke's hand to step toward them. "Victory, we can't just abandon them!"

"_We must defeat Validation, regardless of personal cost. These spirits knew what they were agreeing to. Many would sacrifice all and more to see her defeated."_

"But this isn't the right way!"

"_It is the _only_ way."_

"Surely there are-"

Victory suddenly whirled on her and pushed a lightning-infused finger against her chest. "_Need I remind you that we are all sacrificing to get _you_ home? Validation is _your_ problem, mortal. Honor the sacrifices of these spirits by ensuring their deaths were not in vain."_

She stepped forward, face twisted down in a scowl. Merrill took a resulting step back, eyes wide as the spirit continued. "_We will find Validation, we will kill her, and we will free the Fade from her influence. But we cannot accomplish any of that if her attention is focused upon us. These spirits must die so that we may succeed in our task."_

"Hey," Hawke said, stepping up with a single clenched fist. "Stop yelling at her. She was only saying what she thought."

"_I did not ask for her opinion_," Victory snarled, turning her crackling purple-white gaze to the human now. "_Nor did I ask for yours. I know what I am doing and I will thank you not to question my decision in front of my men."_

She turned back to the armored spirits behind her. "_You have your orders, Valor. Hold the courtyard at all costs. With her attention on the battle there, Validation will not see a four-man team approaching."_

"I hate to question your plan," Hawke said with a sneer, "but we have a _five_-man team."

"_I made no mistake, mortal_. _Sloth will accompany the others and lend his considerable power to the defensive in the courtyard._"

"W-what?" Merrill's eyes widened as she thought, _She can't do that! Sloth is… is a friend! At least as close to a friend as a demon can get… And if he goes down to the courtyard, he'll die!_

_"__My orders were clear."_

"Hawke," Merrill murmured, "we can't let her do this!"

"I know…"

Justice stepped forward now, putting a hand on Victory's shoulder and leaning close. He spoke softly, but not so softly that Merrill's sharp elven ears couldn't hear. "_Victory_," he said, "_calm yourself. We will need Sloth's power for ourselves. He could be useful."_

"_If we lose the courtyard, all is lost_," Victory replied, not bothering to lower her voice. "_Sloth will go to reinforce our numbers there. That is final."_

"Hold on, now," Hawke interjected. "Why are you so willing to throw away allies? I'm flattered you think just the four of us can take on an eons-old pride demon, but-"

"_Without Sloth in the courtyard,_" Victory snapped, "_there is a good chance we will not be able to hold it for long enough to distract Validation. My forces boast scores of wraiths, valor spirits, and desire demons. Validation commands the loyalties of pride and fear demons. It is easy to see that my forces will be lost if they are not supported by something equally powerful."_

She turned to Sloth and rested her hands on her hips. "_You, my friend, are a wild card in all of this. Your kind rarely find themselves in your position. Your power is great if you choose to use it; that will give my forces an edge Validation cannot withstand._"

"If it's a power Validation can't withstand," Hawke argued, "why not bring him with us? We need any edge we can get over this demon."

"Please," Merrill pleaded. "Listen to Hawke. She knows what she's talking about! She's fought demons before!"

Victory sighed in exasperation. "_Must I beat it into your head, human? Validation alone is a minor threat when she may call in all her demons to help protect her during our battle! We need to tie her down in the courtyard, cutting off any means of support. She _cannot _escape us. Not now."_

Sloth rested back on his haunches, cocking his wide head. "_Do I have no say… in deciding my own fate?"_

Victory's gaze was cold and unapologetic. "_You do not."_

The great bear-like demon sighed and ruffled his quill-studded coat. He slowly rose to his feet with a world-weary sigh. "_Very well… I will seek out Valor in the courtyard. Perhaps there is still time for him to… create some of his famous armor for me. It would be a sight to behold…"_

Merrill stepped toward the demon, hands clenched in front of her. "Sloth… you don't need to do this. You could stay with us, no matter what Victory says."

Sloth chuckled. "_You are young and reckless, little mortal… I see the wisdom in what Victory claims. If Validation dominates the courtyard, all is lost. If you fail to kill her… all is equally lost. Yet I cannot be in two places at one time."_

"Please don't…"

The bear-like demon shuffled his feet, kicking up small clouds of dirt. "_I must say, it has been quite the interesting experience travelling with you. I could not have imagined… a lost little mortal girl would provide… such engaging entertainment…"_

Merrill bit her lip, chin quivering as she fought to hold back tears. Then she rushed forward and hugged Sloth around his thick, furry neck. She squeezed hard, careful to avoid the sharp quills that sprouted from his fur, and whispered, "Thank you, Sloth. For everything."

The demon let out a rumbling chuckle. "_In a time long past, I was known not as Sloth, but as Resolve. I was a spirit of strength, left to decay into inaction as eons passed… I would very much like to reclaim that part of myself… perhaps, in helping Valor stand against this darkness, I will find what I have lost."_

Merrill drew back, tears streaming down her cheeks now. The demon regarded her with blazing scarlet eyes that somehow now looked full of optimism and humor. He snorted and said, "_Farewell little mortal. I hope you find your way home again."_

He was about to say more when the air around him suddnly began to shimmer and rumble. A bright light enveloped his thickly muscled body, hiding him from view. Merrill gasped and shrank back against the comforting firmness of Hawke's armor as the light grew even brighter. The human wrapped an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close as the light swelled until it was almost blinding.

Then, in the span of moments, the light vanished and Sloth was gone. In the place of the great, quill-studded demon stood a towering bear with thick brown fur, long and sharp claws, and raging blue eyes. Merrill's own eyes stretched wide as the creature reared back onto its hind legs and let out a roar that shook the stone beneath her feet. It then thudded down onto all fours again and shook its pelt. When it spoke, it no longer spoke with Sloth's slow drawl, but with a strong booming voice that made Merrill's heart swell in her chest.

"_Ah…_" it said, sniffing at one paw. "_It is good to feel this way again. After so long lost…"_

It stomped its feet and thundered, "_I am Resolve, spirit of strength and power. I have reclaimed my purpose and stand ready to contribute however I can, Mistress Victory."_

Victory nodded, very obviously pleased. "_I welcome your help, Resolve. Follow Valor to the courtyard and follow his instructions."_

Resolve looked over to Merrill now and bowed his furry head. "_I thank you, mortal, for showing me the path to redemption. For convincing me to pull myself from my lethargy and lend my skills to a worthy cause. Because of you, I have reclaimed the purpose I long ago shunned."_

"Y-you changed."

"_Indeed. The Fade is ruled by perception, do you remember? These other spirits no longer perceived me as a demon of sloth. I was changed as a result. It feels… freeing, somehow."_

The bear lumbered forward, following Valor and his soldiers. He met Merrill's gaze as he passed and said, "_Take heart, little mortal. I will ensure Validation's eye is fixed upon us. Know that regardless of the outcome, your name and your deeds will be sung in the great halls of the Black City tonight."_

Merrill squeaked, holding back tears as Resolve passed. She quickly nodded her head and murmured, "Good luck, _lethallin_."

"_And to you, my friend."_

Then he and the others passed around the corner and out of sight. Merrill felt the tears finally spill over. She scrunched up her face in a vain effort to hold them back, feeling them tracing hot patterns down her cheeks. She still felt Hawke's arm around her shoulders, the hard planes of the woman's armor the only source of comfort and constancy in this vile and ever-shifting place. Letting out a choked sob, Merrill turned and wrapped her arms tight around Hawke's slender waist. The human stiffened a little at the contact but hugged her back, stroking her hair and whispering to her that things would be all right. Merrill buried her face in the taller woman's shoulder, fighting to hold back the sobs that wracked her body.

She could feel Victory's gaze boring into her back. When she spoke, her voice was cold and hard.

"_We have no time to mourn, _da'len_. We must continue."_

Something about the spirit using the elven tongue made Merrill's chest tighten dangerously while a fiery heat began to boil in her belly. She instantly let go of Hawke and whirled on the spirit, tiny hands clenched into shaking fists.

"Don't call me that," she snapped. "You have no right to call me that. You think you're one of the _Elvhen_? You're _not_. You pretend you are, spouting our language and humming our songs and wearing Lyna's face, but you're not one of The People and you are_ not_ Lyna. You're just a pale reflection of her, pretending you're something great so you can eat up all the good she's done."

She gestured to the hallway where Valor and Resolve had disappeared. "_Lyna_ wouldn't have sent those spirits to die. _Lyna_ wouldn't have condemned a _friend_ to death just so she could complete some mad quest for vengeance. _Lyna_ would have found a way to make sure everyone made it back home. But you… you're just…"

"Merrill," Hawke began, but she didn't let the human speak.

"No," Merrill continued. "I'm _sick_ of putting my fate in the hands of these spirits. I'm sick of not knowing what's going on. I'm sick of this place and these demons, and I'm sick of _you_, Victory. I'm sick of the way you look like my Lyna. The way you talk like her, and you clean your daggers like her, and you sing like her. Every time I see you, part of me begins to believe you _are_ Lyna. But then I remember…"

She trailed off, shaking her head as her words failed her. Eventually, her voice very small, she pointed at Victory and hissed, "I remember that you're nothing but a parasite, Victory. You attach yourself to the legend of others, wearing their face and speaking their language and use their example to make yourself look better. Maybe, in that regard, you're no better than Validation."

_That_ hurt; Merrill could see it in the way Victory's shoulders tensed, the way her lightning-filled eyes widened. But she wasn't about to take her words back, as she had meant every one. Before the spirit could respond, she turned back to Hawke and drew _Hellathen _into her hand. She grabbed Hawke's hand tightly once more and said, "Let's go, Marian. Let's kill this demon so we can both go home."

"Gladly," was Hawke's reply.

Then the two marched off together, deeper into the tower.

* * *

Justice stepped up next to her, hands hooked behind his back. His blue-white gaze followed the two mages as they retreated toward the stairs to the next level of the tower. He eventually glanced over at Victory and murmured, "_The little one is not wrong."_

_"__She _is _wrong. I am _nothing _like Validation_."

Victory's voice was tense and breathless, yet Justice could hear the doubt strung through every syllable. He sighed and said, "_My friend, the mortal does have a point. I worry that you are growing too attached to this quest. Your lust for vengeance and domination is growing too strong to control. Resolve could have helped our cause, as could Valor and his soldiers."_

"_The decision has been made_" Victory snarled, hands clenched into fists around the hilts of her sharpened Fadestone daggers. "_I will not change it now."_

_"__Why? Because you truly believe it is the right choice? Or because it will leave Validation open for a killing blow?"_

_"__I…"_

He stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the retreating mages. "_I have seen far too many friends fall in this place, brought to heel under Validation's darkness. I would not see you defeated by her evil as well. Not when we are so close to ending it all."_

_"__I will not be corrupted!"_

Justice smiled sadly. "_I fear it may be too late."_

Victory brushed him aside with a dark glare. "_Worry about your own state of being, Justice. My only concern is killing Validation and sending those insufferable mortals home."_

Justice stared after her as the spirit stalked after the two mortals. Then he sighed and murmured, _"That is what I am afraid of."_

* * *

**Kirkwall (Present)**

"Well?" Cassandra demanded. "Was it true?"

Varric raised an eyebrow. "Was what true?"

"Was Victory truly corrupted? Had her desire for revenge transformed her into a demon?"

The dwarven storyteller rubbed at the stubble on his chin. "It's… hard to say. It's not like a spirit gets a little to bloodthirsty and – poof! – they turn into a demon. The process is slower and far more subtle. She _could_ have been a demon from the moment Merrill laid eyes on her. Then again, she may never have been a demon, even when she basically sentenced all those spirits in the courtyard to death."

Leliana cocked her head. "But how does one who sacrifices innocents remain pure? Victory's decision hardly seems in keeping with her purpose as a spirit."

"Victory costs, Songbird," Varric reminded her. "I would have thought you of all people would understand that."

The Nightingale winced at the implied reminder of Mahariel's great sacrifice. "_Touché."_

"The point is that Victory was a complex, faceted individual. There aren't many situations in which you can save the day with your morals and your ethics intact, and I think she understood that. So maybe she was a corrupted being, a demon hell-bent on killing her greatest nemesis regardless of the cost. Or maybe she was something far more complicated; a spirit making a calculated sacrifice to achieve a goal that was otherwise impossible."

Cassandra narrowed her eyes, casually resting her hands on the pommel of her sheathed sword. "That seems unlikely."

"Come now, Seeker. Do I have to remind you of Teyrn Loghain's own questionable decisions at Ostagar? The tales are more similar than you might want to think."

"Loghain Mac Tir was a villain."

"And you'd find quite a lot of people who would disagree with that stance." He let out a weary sigh, rubbing at his tired eyes. "Look, the point is that things in the Fade are more complicated than they appear. Victory might have been a demon. She might have been a simple spirit the whole time. Or she may have even been both. Maybe neither. Who can really tell?"

"All this speculation is making my head hurt," the Seeker sighed.

Varric snorted. "That makes two of us."

"Very well. What happened next? Did Hawke and Merrill make it to the demon without further incident?"

"_Without further incident_ is a bit… well, wrong," Varric said, settling back in his chair. "It was a hard slog to Validation's sanctum, but our heroes made it there in one piece. They were tired and sore and bleeding from many wounds, but they eventually stood ready to face down the demon that had started it all…"


	23. The Nightmares Begin

Hawke rolled to avoid an incoming slash from an enraged terror demon, tucking her arms close to her chest as she came back to her feet. As soon as she had her balance once again, she thrust both hands forward and released a torrent of flame that enveloped the skeletal demon from head to toe. The creature screamed, writhing within the firestorm, before collapsing to the ground with its leathery skin charred and blackened.

She didn't even pause for breath, scooping up her fallen staff and sprinting toward the demon that was steadily pushing Merrill further back down the hall. The towering creature was hammering away at the little elf with talons and teeth, throwing itself against a magical barrier she had projected after she had been knocked onto her back. As Hawke watched, the barrier flickered, then failed.

No time to waste. With a primal scream of adrenaline and rage, Hawke drove the bladed end of her staff through the demon's back, the weight of the blow carrying them both to the ground. She landed with a grunt in a tangle of spindly arms and long, taloned fingers, her armor sticky with black demon blood. The terror demon let out a weak hiss, then shivered and melted away to ashes. Within the span of moments, everything had gone still.

Hawke cursed as she rose to her feet again, brushing all the ash and dust she could manage from her blood-splattered armor. She wrenched her staff from where it had embedded itself the ground and looked over to Merrill. "Are you all right?"

The elf nodded, eyes wider than usual. "I'm fine, Hawke. But what about you? You're a mess."

Hawke chuckled, holding out her hand to help her fellow mage to her feet. "You should see me on the outside of the Fade."

Merrill winced. "Did… did I hurt you badly?"

"_Validation_ did," Hawke said, her voice leaving no room for argument. "It wasn't you. No one holds it against you. Except… well, I'm not going to lie; Fenris is pretty pissed."

Merrill laughed and grabbed her own staff from where it had fallen. "I would be more worried if he _wasn't_ angry with me."

They arrived back with the others just in time to see Justice ram the sharpened end of his own staff through the gaping maw of a rage demon. The fiery spirit roared, flailing its smoking hands into the air before melting down into a pool of magma on the floor. Justice froze over the puddle with a blast of frost from his staff, just in case, then lowered his staff with a grunt.

As they approached, he looked up to them and nodded. "_Hawke, Merrill._ _I am pleased to see you yet live. I was worried those terror demons had gotten the better of you."_

"No need to worry, Ander— I mean Justice." Hawke scolded herself for the trip-up. She needed to remember that in this place, next to nothing was as it seemed. "It'll take more than a pair of terror demons to bring us mortals down."

"_Let us hope so_," Victory said, stepping up next to Justice. "_We are here. Validation lays in wait just beyond this door."_

The few times she'd dared imagine what would be waiting for them at the top of the tower, Hawke had envisioned a great stone set of double doors, carved with depictions of humans writing in pain and terror and inscribed with mythical glowing runes. Perhaps there would be a sign over the door reading _ABANDON ALL HOPE, YE WHO ENTER HERE_ or something to that effect. The entire image would depict horror and dread and despair, threatening to consume all who passed the threshold of the demonic gates to Validation's sanctum.

But what stood before them now was just a plain wooden door, splattered with demon blood and charred from the rage demon's fire. There was no sign to indicate this was any different from hundreds of other doors they had passed through on their way here. And there certainly was no sign that behind this flimsy wooden barrier lurked a terrible and powerful pride demon that was currently holding one of her best friends hostage within her own body.

Hawke leaned on her staff, wiping sweat from her nose and only managing to smear it with demon blood in the process. She squinted at the door and said, "Are you sure this is the right place? I'm not getting a spooky _welcome to my lair_ vibe from this place."

To her right, Merrill sucked in a deep breath and closed her eyes. After a few moments, she whispered, "We're in the right place. I can sense that Validation is waiting on the other side of this door."

"Does your special demon sense tell if she has any friends in there with her?"

She shook her head. "From what I can see… she is alone. She doesn't know we're here, but she knows what we intend. She feels… smug. Like she's already won."

"That sounds familiar," Hawke said, rolling her eyes and hefting her staff into a sturdy two-handed grip. "Let's just get this over with. I intend to have this whole mess behind us by dinner."

Victory stepped in front of her as she was moving closer to the door. "_I would advise more caution, mortal. Validation is stronger than you realize."_

"Oh really? Then by all means, enlighten us as to what we're going to be facing."

"_She is a master of both disguise and manipulation. When you step through this door, you _will _be facing her alone. She will force you into an illusion, preying upon your desires and insecurities and tempting you to turn against yourself. She is treacherous and cunning, and to underestimate her would most certainly mean death for you and most likely your friends."_

Hawke narrowed her eyes. "What would you suggest?"

Victory pointed at the blood-splattered door. "_Do not trust anything you see when this door opens. Do not trust anything until Validation lies dead at your feet and you wake in your own world. There will be no way to tell if you are truly victorious or if you are still simply in an illusion."_

Justice nodded. "_Furthermore, Validation will attempt to bribe you. If she senses that she is close to defeat, she will most likely attempt to trap you in particular, Hawke. She will need a new host if Merrill manages to wrestle freedom from her clutches. If Validation succeeds, she will transfer to Hawke's mind and this entire process will begin anew."_

Hawke shuddered. "Thanks, but no thanks. I plan to free Merrill, drink until I throw up in celebration, then head home for a nap."

Merrill smiled a little. "You make it sound so easy, Hawke."

"I have a knack for that."

With an exasperated sigh, Victory folded her arms across her chest and tapped her foot impatiently. "_We only have one attempt at this. If Validation escapes, all our work will be undone."_

"So what do you propose?" Hawke said. "Do you have any advice for actually resisting her besides _don't believe anything you see?_"

"_I do. Train your thoughts to focus upon memories of strength and determination. Find an anchor to which you can hold within Validation's storm of deception. A happy memory, a sad memory, anything that will keep you tethered to reality. You will surely be lost otherwise."_

"And what will you and Justice be doing?"

Victory cocked her head. "_You believe we will be battling some other creature? Rest assured, Validation will show her fellow spirits no quarter. We will be facing our own illusions, just as you will."_

Justice glanced at the door, looking a little uneasy. "_When you find your anchor within her illusion, you will be able to fight against Validation. Together, I am confident we can overwhelm her. As each of us defeats her in our own nightmare, she will grow progressively weaker. Yet once she is defeated here, you will face another challenge."_

Hawke nodded with a determined scowl. "We'll have to face her on the outside, too."

"_Correct. Validation will materialize physically within your world, most likely taking our collective consciousness with her. You mortals will be forced back into your bodies and wake from this nightmare. I will take control of Anders and assist you as I can."_

"What about you?" Merrill asked, looking to Victory. "You don't have a body in our world."

Victory's purple-white gaze was unafraid. "_I will be forced into your world regardless. It will… it will not be an easy transition. I will be in quite some pain."_

"But… but doesn't that put you at risk? Isn't pulling a spirit into our world the easiest way to turn you into a demon?"

Validation's gaze didn't waver. "_I am not afraid. I will overcome the transition."_

"That fills me with confidence," Hawke sighed. "Are you sure about this? We don't want to suddenly be facing down two demons instead of one."

Victory drew her daggers from her belt, letting out a short sigh. "_We have no other choice. I am willing to make this sacrifice to stop Validation and her evil. It is a small price to pay if it frees the Fade from her influence."_

Merrill blinked, wringing her hands. "That's very brave of you, Victory."

The spirit turned away. "_I seek no approval from you or your friend, mortal. I merely wish to see Validation defeated. You do not need to flatter me with false praise."_

"Victory…" Merrill reached out and put a hand on the spirit's armored shoulder. "I'm… I'm sorry about what I said earlier. You're not a parasite. You're very brave to do this willingly. I was just angry with you and sad to see Sloth sent away."

"_And yet you were not wrong. I sentenced those spirits to death in the courtyard to buy us time to defeat Validation. My own desire to overcome Validation's evil clouded my judgement."_

"People die in battle," Merrill said slowly. "I may not like it, but it's true. You were right; we need every available hand in the courtyard keeping Validation distracted. And I just want to thank you for guiding us this far. We couldn't have made it this far without you."

"Well, we might have made it here a little later, but—"

Merrill nudged Hawke in the ribs before the woman could continue muttering. Hawke felt a phantom pang race up her side, as if her stitches on the outside were reacting to the strike. She winced and rubbed at the affected area.

"I just… Thank you," Merrill sighed. "You're braver than I gave you credit for."

Victory didn't meet her gaze, her back still turned. When she spoke, her voice was small and sad. "_That is good to hear, Merrill. But please, let us move on before Validation moves beyond our reach."_

She and Justice moved forward to examine the door for any hidden traps. As the two spirits prepared for the ensuing battle, Hawke drew Merrill aside, the weight of her hand on the elf's bony shoulder. She glanced back at the other two, then murmured, "Well… it's been a hell of a ride. Are you ready for what's coming next?"

Merrill nodded, fidgeting a little. "It won't be the first time I've been dropped into Validation's illusions. But the last time… wasn't a good feeling."

"Are you okay?"

She shook her head with an exhausted sigh. She reached out and took Hawke's hands in her own, as if she needed to convince herself once again that Hawke was real. "I just want to go_ home_, Hawke. To my books and my scrolls and…"

She looked up at Hawke with an exhausted but determined frown. She met Hawke's steel grey gaze and held it, all traces of the nervous and fidgety elf suddenly gone. "It means a lot to have you here, Hawke. I wouldn't want to face down this demon with anyone else. Not even Keeper Marethari."

That was high praise from the elven mage. Hawke found herself surprised at the depth of gratitude in her friend's large green eyes. Then her heart leaped into her throat as Merrill leaned up and kissed her cheek, pulling away with a furious blush. She quickly let go of Hawke's hands, bashfully hiding her own behind her back.

"Thank you, Marian," the little elf murmured, staring at her feet with red cheeks and a small smile. "I'm glad I didn't accidentally kill you earlier."

Hawke let out a breathless laugh, heart still pounding in her chest. She could feel Merrill's lips against her cheek still, like a phantom's touch against her skin. She smiled and said, "We'll get through this, Merrill. You'll see."

"When you say it, I can believe it."

"_It is time,"_ a voice interrupted them.

Behind them, Victory and Justice had flanked the door, weapons drawn. Hawke and Merrill hung back, staves raised and mana surging through their bodies. Hawke glanced over at Merrill and saw her jaw tighten, her wide green eyes fixed on the door. Hawke was confident the Dalish mage would be able to stand up to Validation's evil, but this would be the toughest fight they had faced yet. If anything happened to her…

_Should I tell her now?_ she thought. _If anything happens in there and I don't get to tell her how I feel... I don't want to miss my chance again._

Merrill saw her stare and gave her a reassuring nod, mistaking her indecision for pre-battle nerves. Hawke blushed and nodded back, gathering up all her courage before throwing caution to the winds. _It's now or never, Marian_, she thought. _Piss on the consequences and say what you need to say._

"Merrill… Just in case… I just wanted to tell you—"

But Validation's stern voice interrupted her. "_The time for talk is behind us, mortal. Steel yourself for the battle to come."_

Hawke froze mid-sentence, completely off-balance and unsure what to do. Then her shoulders slumped and she forced herself to take a deep breath. The spirit was right, even with her horrid timing; she needed to stay focused on what was to come, not stutter out a love confession like an awestruck Orlesian schoolgirl. The time for such things was over. She'd missed her chance. Again.

She tightened her grip on her staff with a scowl. The sooner they got all of this over with, the happier she would be. Even within the Fade, her muscles were aching and all she truly wanted was to go back to the Hanged Man, down a few dozen mugs of the swill they called booze, and pass out for the next few days. Maker knew she'd earned it.

"_Remember_," Justice hissed, "_once this door opens, you will be plunged into Validation's nightmares. We must all overcome her together if we stand a chance of forcing her from this realm."_

Hawke nodded and narrowed her eyes. The bladed end of her staff raised and she muttered, "Do it. I'm ready."

Victory's face turned down in a scowl and snarled, "_You cannot escape us now, Validation. We are coming for you."_

Then she and Justice pulled open the wooden double doors. Immediately a blast of cold air washed over them and Hawke grimaced and covered her eyes with one arm. When she was able to focus through bleary eyes once again, she saw that the room beyond the door was pitch black, filled to the brim with swirling, undulating tendrils of shadow. It a maelstrom of darkness, rushing around in a swirling loop of midnight-black tendrils of gloom.

Hawke glanced over to Merrill and flashed her friend the most encouraging grin she could muster. "Ready to make Varric proud?"

"I don't think I'm ready for any of this," Merrill said with an uneasy laugh. "You'll be waiting for me on the other side of all this, right?"

Hawke had never been surer of anything in her life. "I promise."

Merrill's big green eyes took on a steely glint and she tightened her grip around the Fadestone shaft of _Hellathen_. "Then let's do what needs to be done."

Then the woman moved forward and stepped into the shadows. They reached out to welcome her, like thick dark hands that grasped at her arms and pulled her into the maelstrom and out of sight. The darkness reached out and enveloped her and in a few moments she had vanished from sight. Justice nodded at Hawke and followed the elf's lead, Victory close on his heels. Marian watched them go, then let out a short, soft curse. "Why don't we ever get to just hunt some dragons? I would _kill_ someone to just be able to hunt some dragons…"

Then she stepped forward into darkness and the entire world went cold.

* * *

**Anders' Clinic**

Isabela sat back against the cot, flipping her dagger absently in one hand. The blade made a short whistle as it sailed through the air, then thudded back into her palm. Her other hand rested under her chin, her eyes dull and tired. "I'm _bored. _When is Hawke going to wake up so we can have some _fun_?"

"You do realize," Varric grunted, testing the tension of Bianca's crossbow string, "that when Hawke wakes up she's going to be bringing a deadly pride demon with her, right? And we're going to have to kill it."

"That's what I'm talking about," Isabela sighed. "_Fun_."

Leliana was on her knees next to the unconscious Hawke and Merrill, eyes closed and head bowed as she prayed. At Isabela's voice, she opened her eyes and murmured, "We will need you in top focus, pirate. The demon cannot be allowed to succeed here. Not after all we have done to get this far."

Isabela drew her dagger across the metal armor plate over her wrist. The weapon made a sharp, threatening scrape that drew Leliana's gaze. Isabela sneered at the wary look in the Nightingale's eyes. "You never explained why you're still helping us out, sweet thing. You said you know Merrill is a blood mage. If you're so concerned with hunting down dangerous mages, shouldn't maleficarum be on the top of your backstabbing, Chantry-loving list?"

"Normally I would agree with you," Leliana admitted. "But this experience with Merrill has… opened my eyes."

"Oh?" Fenris inquired from where he was sharpening his greatsword with a borrowed whetstone. "And how did that come about? Such opinions are not formed overnight."

"Hawke is very… devoted to her young elven friend. And if Varric's tales of Merrill are true, she is a sweet, thoughtful young woman. She may be a blood mage, but she is no maleficar. She does not seek demonic power, nor does she wish harm upon others. That… changes things. It changes the purpose of my mission here."

"Does it?" Isabela laughed. "So that's all it takes? A blood mage just has to promise to be good and you'll turn a blind eye?"

"Maker's breath, Isabela." Anders glared at the pirate. "Do you _want _the assassin to kill Merrill? She's agreed to leave the girl alone. Let's leave it at that and focus on getting her and Hawke back in one piece."

Isabela ignored him, pointing the blade of her dagger at Leliana and narrowing her eyes. "Let's get something straight, Lady Nightingale. I don't trust you, and I don't buy this _repentant mage hunter _act. And if you so much as lay a finger on Marian or Kitten, you'll have to go through me."

Leliana sighed. "What must I do to prove myself to you, Isabela?"

"Offing yourself would go a long way," the pirate queen muttered. "Or, if you're feeling squeamish, you could just leave us the fuck alone."

"I would not count on it. If this pride demon is as powerful as we believe, you will need my bow."

"Varric's got a bow."

"_Cross_bow," the dwarf grunted.

"Right. The point is, we don't need you or your bow. We're a _team_, Nightingale, and we're a damn good one. All you've done so far is cramp our style and get in the way."

"And try to kill us," Varric muttered.

"Now you're taking _her_ side?" Leliana scoffed. She looked around at the distrustful gazes around her. "How is it so hard to believe that I am here to help you? I have done more than enough to prove my loyalty. You would not even know of this method for freeing your friend without me!"

"Doesn't mean I trust you, Orlesian," Isabela raised her dagger, closing one eye as she inspected the edge. "Doesn't mean I'll ever trust you. And if you lay a finger on either of them, I'll make sure you _really _know it."

Leliana sighed and cradled her bow in her lap. She kept her gaze on Hawke's inert form and murmured, "Maker preserve me."

* * *

**Justice's Nightmare**

Justice pivoted in place, holding his staff close to his chest. The lyrium crystal at the tip of the weapon glowed bright blue, shedding light over the blank void in which he stood. Shadows swirled all around him in a violent hurricane, tugging at his hair and his feathery pauldrons. He could feel a dark presence nearby, just out of eyesight.

"_Validation?"_ he called, stepping forward. "_I know you're here. Show yourself!"_

At his query, a deep and booming voice rang out from the emptiness around him. It slithered around him, like the bulk of a great dragon hiding in the darkness. "_You are very foolish to come here alone, Justice. I sensed the approach of your companions. What do you hope to gain by facing me?"_

"_I seek what I have always sought." _Justice narrowed his blue-white eyes, sending a pulse of magic from his staff to illuminate his surroundings. He could see only darkness and endless, flat ground as far as the illumination shed. He planted his staff in the ground at his feet and looked up into the dark sky. "_Is this the best you can conjure, demon?" _he demanded._ "I cannot be swayed by an empty plain and the disembodied voice of a coward."_

There was a dark laugh from the shadows around him. "_You misunderstand, simple spirit. I do not seek to trap you within your own mind or force you into battle against your greatest fears. I merely seek to grant you counsel. You will wish to hear what I have to tell you."_

_"__And why is that?"_

_"__Because it is an premonition of your own fate. And that of Anders."_

Justice paused, blue fire blazing around his hands. His eyes widened dangerously. "_What do you mean? Speak plain, monster."_

"_I will not speak,"_ Validation hissed. "_I will show you_."

Justice grimaced as a vision burst into his mind against his will. He saw blurred visions of fire and blood, consuming everything. Kirkwall burned, as did all the Free Marches. His head throbbed as he watched the great inferno spread south, to Ferelden and Orlais, consuming everything it touched. Everywhere it traveled, humans, elves, dwarves, and all the rest died in uncountable numbers. Their bodies clogged the ditches and roadways as if a great plague had swept the land. Cities burned, sending plumes of smoke high into the sky as carrion birds circled in great flocks over long-dead battlefields.

The fires of war had come to Thedas.

"_Yes," _Validation purred. "_You see it? You see the cause?"_

He groaned as the vision focused, shifting to images of scowling men in polished armor, hefting weapons stained with the blood of the innocent. Before them all walked a tall, armored woman with stark-white hair and eyes as blue as Justice's own. A red hood covered her head, topped with a sharpened crown of rough-hammered iron. The armored men around her raised their bloody swords high and cheered her name again and again, as if worshipping a newly-christened god.

"_Knight-Commander Meredith…" _Justice gasped, clutching at his staff. "_The templars. What are they doing?!"_

He watched as the Knight-Commander put entire villages to the torch, slaughtering thousands in the name of "peace." Men, women and children all fell beneath her ruthless blade. Kings threw their crowns at her feet. Cities became graveyards in her wake as she led a march of her faithful across the known world, conquering all she saw. Mages and mage sympathizers were burned at the stake as heretics. Blood mages stood against her, only to be cut down by the hundreds. Mighty enchanters rose against her, only to be consumed by flame. The world was covered in darkness as magic flickered and began to die.

Justice fell to his knees. "_No… no, this cannot be true. She cannot… she would not…"_

Validation's voice was cold and uncompromising. "_You know it is unavoidable. For all your dalliances with your human puppet, the Templars will find him. They will find him and all those like him. And when they do, they will show no mercy."_

He now saw mages in chains, _thousands _of them, and each one had the sunburst brand of Tranquility marked upon their foreheads. Their hands were bound with thick chains embedded with lyrium runes trapping them within their bonds. And shuffling through the ranks of defeated, mindless husks came an emaciated figure with the familiar blond hair and feathered pauldrons of his oldest friend.

"_Anders!" _Justice shouted, his plea falling on deaf ears. "_Why did you not resist? Why did you not fight back?"_

Behind him came Hawke, chained at the wrists and ankles with a slave collar around her neck. Her grey eyes stared dully forward, all emotion severed from her mind. Bringing up the last of the group was Merrill, the healthy luster of her blushing cheeks replaced by a pallid demeanor and a dull, defeated expression. All three shambled forward, toward the towering figure of the Knight-Commander standing on a raised platform above them.

"_For their treason to the faithful and their corruption of Andraste's law," _the human roared over a sea of applause and rabid cheers from an avid audience of templars, "_I hereby sentence the apostate Anders and his accomplices to death. Let their heads be a symbol to all who would rise against the might of the great Templar Order!"_

The templars stamped and screamed as Anders and the others were led up to the platform to stand next to the triumphant Knight-Commander. Anders was unchained from the others and led willingly to a bloodstained executioner's block. He knelt without argument or resistance, stretching his neck out over the bloodied stone with that same dead gaze as Meredith drew her massive greatsword and held it high over her head.

"_For the Chantry!"_ she roared. "_For Thedas!"_

To the cheers of an adoring crowd and the unheard screams of the spirit watching them, Meredith grasped the sword in both hands and swung it down. There was a sickening crunch of slicing flesh and bone and Anders' body twitched on the executioner's stand. Hawke and Merrill stared on, unflinching and unfeeling, as blood began to pool on the wooden platform around Anders' feet.

Justice fell to his hands and knees, staff rolling away as he cried, "_No, no, no! This was not how it was meant to be! That is not justice! That is not equality!"_

His eyes blazed with magic and fire rushed up to consume his entire body. With an enraged shout, he staggered to his feet and thrust both hands in front of him, unleashing a surge of fire that blasted aside the darkness around him.

"_Why_?!" he demanded of the shadow. "_Why did you show me this terrible future?"_

"_To give you purpose,"_ Validation sneered. "_To grant you direction. There is still time to stop this from coming to pass, foolish spirit. This future can be altered by the intervention of a single soul, be it spirit… or demon."_

Justice scowled, keeping up the flow of fire from his hands. He could see the shadows burning away, could see them solidifying into a single figure on the horizon. "_I refuse! I will not bow to your whims, no matter the future that awaits me and my friend!"_

The shadows solidified into a tall female figure made of roiling black smoke that swaggered toward him with a seductive sway to her ghostly hips. Justice ceased the firestorm and grabbed his staff once again, falling into a battle-ready crouch as Validation approached. The air around him all but froze with the cold that followed her as she drew close enough to touch.

"_My dear deluded Justice… I will not be there to stop this nightmare from coming to pass. But it does not take the touch of a pride demon to undo what Meredith intends."_

She came to a halt before him, folding her arms and staring at him with eyes made of roiling scarlet fire. "_The Exalted March _will _come, my old friend. The Right of Annulment _will _be called. And the mages will sit by and let it happen unless they are shaken from their torpor by one who seeks true peace. The innocent need not merely sit by and wait to be crushed under Meredith Stannard's heel."_

She met his crackling blue-white gaze with her fiery red one. "_You know what you must do."_

Justice hesitated, flexing his grip over his staff. He could feel the truth of her words, could still see the images of fire and blood and chaos racing through his mind. Fire burned behind his chest, racing through his body as he pondered the future that the demon had laid before him.

There was only one way to end it. Only one way to find peace from that nightmare.

"_Yes,"_ he said, jaw tightening. "_I know what must be done. For the good of all."_

Validation smiled at him, not noticing the fire once again building around his arms. She held out her hand. "_Then take my hand, dear Justice. And become what you were always meant to be."_

Justice stared at her shadowy hand. Before he could hesitate and think better of his decision, he drew back his staff, then thrust it forward with all his might. The sharpened Fadestone point pierced straight through the shadows of Validation's chest, slicing deep into her body. She let out a high pitched shriek and clutched at the staff, staring at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

He flicked his wrists and sent a wash of fire racing down the staff and into the wound. Validation arched her back and screamed as fire consumed her from within, racing through her shadowy body and covering her from head to toe. The same fire poured from Justice's eyes as he kept up the onslaught, even as Validation fell to her knees and went limp before him.

Only when her shadowy form had faded away to nothing did he lower his staff and cease his magical discharge. The fire instantly flickered out, replaced by the usual dull thrum of lightning beneath his skin. He straightened, planting the staff blade in the dirt at his feet. Around him, the formless void resolved back into the familiar black stone walls of the tower.

He stared down where her body had lay before him, a sneer pulling at his face as he muttered, "_I am what I was meant to be."_

* * *

**Victory's Nightmare**

There was a sharp clang of metal against metal as Victory slammed her twin blades against those of her opponent. She grimaced against a sudden spray of red-hot sparks, then shoved her attacker away. She hopped back a few steps, out of reach, and leveled one blade at the woman standing before her.

"_Stand down_," she hissed, eyes blazing. "_I do not wish to harm you."_

Across from her, her identical twin raised her daggers and traced them through the air with a feral sneer. An identical tattooed face was pulled into a mask of fury and disdain, identical silver-blue armor already stained with Victory's blood. "_Oh yes you do. Don't try to fool yourself, Victory."_

Victory and the other slowly began circling each other, weapons raised cautiously. The spirit narrowed her eyes and growled, "_I hold nothing but the greatest respect for you, Warden Mahariel, but I-"_

_"__Liar!"_ Mahariel shot forward, slashing and stabbing in a blinding whirl of blades that left Victory struggling to keep up. The Dalish was a talented swordmaster, and possessed a speed and grace her spirit counterpart couldn't hope to match. "_You're a parasite! A thief! You stole my face, my identity, everything I was!"_

Victory staggered back after Mahariel planted the hard sole of her bare foot against her opponent's chest and shoved with all her might. Victory stumbled and fell heavily to the ground, but quickly rolled to her feet before her opponent could press her advantage. She crossed her blades in an X before her, catching both of the Warden's blades before they could carve apart her skull.

She grimaced, pushing against the blade lock. "_You were a hero! An inspiration to thousands! Is it so evil that I should wish to embody the same virtues? You changed the rules, Warden! You altered all those who looked upon you, even here in the Fade!"_

_"__Liar_!" Mahariel shouted again, catching her in the gut with her knee. Victory doubled over and the nimble elf scored a long slash down her back that left the spirit writhing and screaming. The Warden hopped back, swirling her daggers through the air with a hiss. "_I sacrificed _everything_ to keep Ferelden safe and this is the thanks I get? My identity, stolen by a petty ghost who can't even remember why she exists?"_

She rushed forward again with a hateful scowl pulling at her tattooed face. "_Do you even know me? Do you have any idea what I _did_? Or did you simply see a hero and decide to leech off that fame and admiration?"_

Victory grimaced at the sudden flurry of attacks. She was already bleeding from multiple wounds, having been attacked as soon as she passed through the door to Validation's sanctum. She lashed out with a sharp kick that caught her opponent in the knee, sending her staggering away. Validation raised her daggers and advanced.

"_You left your world!"_ she shouted, slashing and stabbing at the wraith that presumed to be the Warden. "_I watched you die! Your soul was rent apart by the archdemon's wrath and there was nothing of you left to reach the Fade!"_

She stabbed her daggers forward, plunging them deep into Mahariel's back and dragging her up to hiss in her ear. "_Nothing but _me_."_

She shoved the elf away, watching with no small satisfaction as blood soaked the back of the Warden's blue-silver armor. The elf groaned in pain, but turned back to face her enemy. Her eyes were full of hate, her every motion screaming violence and darkness.

"_Who continued your legacy after you were gone, inspiring others when they were faltering?" _Victory demanded. "_I did! Did you believe we spirits simply sat in the Fade and twiddled our thumbs waiting to possess some unwitting blood mage?"_

She pointed to her own chest. "_I influenced the thoughts and dreams of countless military generals, kings, and soldiers. I gave them the strength needed to carry them to victory, even long after you had gone back to dust!"_

Mahariel spat in derision. "_What good is a symbol if the original meaning is long dead? Victory is not some spell cast over the weak-minded, spirit. It is courage and faith and_-_"_

"_How dare you presume to lecture _me_ about victory! I am its personification! The face of all triumph in the world!"_

_"__You speak of faces as if they are merely to be used up and discarded! But you know nothing of the faces that made the Warden the woman she was"_ Blades clashed again, but this time it was a hulking, hornless Qunari standing before her, hefting a greatsword etched with angular runes. When he spoke, his voice was a coarse growl that grated against Victory's senses.

"_Do you know this face?"_ he demanded. "_The face of the outsider who stood with the Warden against the darkness, putting aside petty mistrust and ambition for the greater good?"_

Victory shoved the greatsword away, but was flattened by a massive punch that knocked her to the ground. As she scrambled back to her feet, a short and stocky dwarf with crooked eyes and yellowed teeth advanced on her. His voice was a drunken slur, his aim shaky and clumsy but very strong.

"_What about this?"_ the dwarf roared. "_The face of the failure, whose hope was rekindled by the bright fire of the hero who would save an entire continent?"_

Victory parried the descending axe and was met by a smirking elf with a tattooed face and long blonde hair. They exchanged blows and she next found herself batting away the rage-filled blows of a black-haired mage with revealing purple robes and fiery yellow eyes. She pushed the battle further into the shadows that swirled around them and found herself face-to-face with a lumbering golem, a frail but powerful grey-haired woman, and a heavily armored young man wielding the hefty sword and shield of a fallen king.

Victory fell onto her back as the solid face of the shield smashed against her face. She landed hard, all the breath knocked from her lungs as the armored man fell back and lowered his sword. She scrambled away and rose to her hands and knees, watching black blood drip down to the ground from her shattered nose.

"_And what of the final face?"_ came a smooth, lilting Orlesian voice. Victory looked up to see a red-haired woman in leather armor, daggers crossed over her chest as she watched the spirit with eyes of the coldest blue. The redhead stepped forward, every step measured with the caution and grace of a seasoned duelist.

"_The greatest source of strength for the Warden did not come from a spirit,"_ the woman sneered, raising her daggers in a battle-ready position. "_The world shapes heroes, immortal fool. _People_ shape heroes. Not the likes of you."_

The woman gestured to the air at her shoulder and Victory saw the shadows writhe and mesh to form into a moving image. She saw the same redheaded woman and the Warden Mahariel fighting back-to-back against hordes of darkspawn monsters, their bodies and blades stained with the blood of their foes. They spun and slashed and hacked away at their enemies in a seamless dance of blades, darkspawn falling all around them.

Seemingly after an eternity, the final hulking darkspawn alpha slammed into Mahariel, knocking her clean off her feet. The alpha let out an earth-shaking roar, hefting its angular and lethal-looking blade over its head for a killing blow. Before the blow could fall, the redhead sprang out of nowhere, wrapping her arms around the towering alpha's neck and driving her dagger deep into its leather flesh. The alpha let out a shocked gurgle, a spurt of dark blood spraying from the wound. Then it fell to its knees and toppled to the ground, dead.

After the monster fell with light fading from its eyes, the elf looked up at the human and threw her a weary grin. The redhead sheathed her blades and returned the smile, holding out a bloodstained hand. Mahariel gratefully accepted, allowing the human to pull her to her feet. Before she could walk away, however, the redhead pulled her into a passionate and loving kiss. Their arms wrapped around each other and-

"_Do you see now?"_ the lilting voice hissed in Victory's ear as the vision faded away. "_They claimed victory. Without you. Do you even know who these people _were_? Do you have any idea whose face you stole for your own?"_

Victory slumped, staring at the blood-splattered stone beneath her feet. "_I… I do not. I have her face, her language, but… but not her memories. Not truly."_

She looked up to see that the redheaded woman standing before her had transformed once again. Now a dark, shadowy form towered over her, regarding her with blazing scarlet eyes. Victory tried to rise against Validation, but found she could not; her strength had been sapped from her.

A cold finger descended, catching under Victory's chin and turning her face up to meet twin pools of fire. "_Of course you would not know of these things, wraith. A spirit such as you cannot know love. You could never know devotion and sacrifice. Only domination. And that, dearest Victory, is why you will never truly understand the Warden."_

A hand descended, grabbing her by the throat and hauling her to her feet. Victory choked and grasped at the hand holding her, feeling all strength sap from her limbs. But Validation regarded her calmly, as a cat would regard a helpless mouse.

"_You are no hero, Victory_," Validation hissed. "_Merrill was right. You may look like her and sound like her, but you are not Lyna Mahariel and you never will be."_

"_You are… right." _Victory squeezed her eyes shut, drawing on her last bit of strength for this one final push. She felt it swell up inside her, like a great bonfire had been lit in her belly. Its warmth washed over her, carrying her along currents of magic until dark purple fire began to spring to life all around her. She could feel herself melting away, revealing the true nature that lay beneath.

She screamed as everything she had built herself up to be was torn away, the agony of the separation tearing into her very essence. The blue-silver Warden armor crackled and popped, charring and blackening before melting to ash. Her skin burned and cracked, flaking away like old paint from a castle wall. The façade she had called her face crumbled, revealing roiling purple fire beneath, flowing over the sharp, angular forms of a ghostly skeleton. The violet light bathed the world around them, casting bright highlights over Validation's shadowy face. The flame grew and grew, roaring out from her body in a churning inferno that enveloped them both. When she spoke, she spoke with the voice of a hundred men and women all joined in triumphant chorus.

"_I am not Lyna Mahariel_," the chorus said. She reached down and grabbed Validation's arm with a hand that radiated with glowing purple-white flame. With barely any effort, she peeled the demon's arm away from her throat. Validation's scarlet eyes widened with a satisfying blend of wonder and fear.

"_I am Victory_," the ghostly spirit boomed. "_And I will see my purpose fulfilled."_

She drove her other hand forward, grabbing hold of Validation's shadowy face. Fire pulsed from her skeletal palm, enveloping the demon's dark form. Validation's scarlet eyes stretched wide as she craned her neck and screamed to the dark heavens above her.

"_I do not know the love Mahariel felt,"_ Victory said as Validation writhed and shrieked in her arms. "_But I know the determination that drove her. I know the duty that bound her to her path. I know the strength that she used to fulfill her destiny. I need no spirit to help me defeat you, demon, as she needed no spirit to aid her in her own quest."_

Validation went suddenly still, going limp as purple flame licked at her ethereal body. The light behind her scarlet eyes dimmed, then faded away completely. Victory stared at the demon's husk with disdain, letting her drop unceremoniously to the ground. She felt power surge through her as the demon's form crumbled away to ash.

"_And now,"_ she murmured, "_like Mahariel, I stand victorious."_

* * *

_Author's Note: __I feel really bad for ending the chapter like that, but it was getting far too long to wrap up in a single chapter. Hawke's and Merrill's nightmares will come soon, I promise!_


	24. The Nightmares End

**Hawke's Nightmare**

Hawke's back hit the wall hard, and she let out a muffled '_mfph'_ of surprise as Isabela pressed forward and sealed her lips with a powerful kiss. The pirate's arms snaked up and pinned her shoulders to the wall, holding her in place. Hawke's head spun at the feel of the Rivaini's lips, the heat from her body, the way her muscles flexed as she held the mage captive. She smelled of seawater, sweat, and leather, and the heady scent washed over Hawke's senses, sending ripples of heat down along her spine. She closed her eyes and lost herself to Isabela's talented lips and strong, calloused hands until-

Her eyes suddenly flashed open as she remembered exactly where she was. Before her opportunity passed, she summoned a surge of mana to push Isabela away and seconds later the woman staggered back from a powerful telekinetic blast. Hawke took a moment to regain control of her senses before Isabela took advantage of her again.

The dark-skinned pirate queen shot Hawke a feral grin and murmured, "Playing hard to get, sweet thing? You should know that doesn't work on the likes of me."

Just what Isabela would say, word-for-word and tone for seductive tone. The piratess sauntered forward again, hips swaying suggestively as Hawke reached for her staff. Her hands grasped only empty air; the weapon wasn't slung in its usual place over her shoulder, nor was it anywhere she could see.

_Maker damn it,_ she thought furiously. _This is my own damned home. Where could it have gone?_

As soon as she had stepped through the door to Validation's stronghold, the world had gone black. When she'd come to, she'd been standing in her borrowed room in Gamlen's house, back in Lowtown. The fire was roaring behind her, bathing the room with heat, and before she could get her bearings she'd heard a knock at the door. When she'd cautiously peeked through, she'd found Isabela standing on the threshold with her hands on her hips. The door swung open and the piratess had murmured, "I got your message," before throwing her arms around Marian's shoulders and enveloping her in the most passionate kiss of her life.

But it wasn't real. It _couldn't _be real. This was all just some sick fantasy Validation had conjured up specifically for her. The demon must have taken it from her mind, prying away anything that could be used against her. It was just her bad luck that the creature had stumbled across her attraction to Isabela.

She pointed a finger at the approaching pirate queen and said, "Stay back. Stay away from me."

Isabela pulled a pouting face, sticking out her lower lip. "But we were having so much fun, Marian. I thought you _wanted_ this."

Hawke turned away, running a hand through her hair. It had come undone from its loose ponytail during their heated kiss and now it spilled down over her shoulders in a messy cascade. While her back was turned, Isabela swaggered up and trailed her fingers through the raven-black locks. Hawke closed her eyes at the woman's soft touch and her intoxicating scent, trying to force the woman away with sheer will alone.

_She's not real_, she kept thinking. _She's not real, this is all a trick._

Isabela leaned close, her hot breath spilling over the cup of Hawke's ear. "You have such _beautiful_ hair, Marian…"

"It's not real," Hawke murmured, eyes still closed. "It's not real."

"Not real?" Isabela sighed. "Now that hurts my feelings, Hawke. Is this real enough for you?"

The piratess roughly yanked against Hawke's hair, throwing her head back so the taller woman could claim her lips once more. Hawke let out a startled cry of surprise that was smothered by the Rivaini's passion. A hot tongue tasting of cheap Ferelden whiskey slithered between Hawke's lips, twining around her own. Hawke groaned at the sensation, but managed to put both hands against Isabela's chest and shove her away. The other woman stepped back with a wide grin, hands raised.

"All right then, Hawke," she purred. "Let's play this your way."

"Stay away from me," Hawke gasped breathlessly, circling the taller woman with an outstretched arm. "I know this is all a trick. You're just Validation in disguise."

"Even if I was," 'Bela said with a knowing smile, "would that change anything? You _want_ this, Marian. I can see it in your eyes every time we speak. I can see it in how tense your body gets every time I'm near, how your breath hitches and your cheeks redden. I've seen it on many faces in my time, Hawke. You can't fool me."

The piratess ran her hands down over her hips, fingers gliding over her luscious curves. "You _hunger_ for this, Hawke. You dream of it every time you close your eyes, every time we're together. You can't stop it, can you?"

Hawke grimaced, clenching her hands into fists. "You lie."

Isabela threw her head back and laughed. "You're lying to yourself, sweet thing. You wouldn't be the first to pine after me. You won't be the last, either. Why not sate your curiosity for once?"

Hawke scowled. "I don't—"

She didn't move fast enough to stop the duelist from charging forward and tackling her around the waist, driving them both down onto the rough cot in the corner. Isabela pinned Hawke with her hips, her hands holding her captive's wrists above her head. She grinned down at the helpless mage beneath her, a lock of brown hair drifting down and tickling Hawke's forehead. Hawke tried to struggle against the pirate's iron grip, but found a strange sensation rising in her, clouding her thoughts.

_Don't fight it_, the sensation whispered to her. _You've been fighting for so long… you deserve a moment's peace to take for yourself. Isabela's offering herself to you, so why not take her up on that offer?_

"You always push yourself so hard, Marian," Isabela breathed, leaning down and running her lips along Hawke's ear. Hawke arched her back, struggling against the piratess' iron grip, as the warmth of the woman's breath enveloped her. "And in the end things are always taken from you. Your father. Your home back in Lothering. Bethany. Merrill. You should take something for _yourself _for once. Don't you think you deserve it?"

The white-clad woman ran a soft tongue up along the strong line of Hawke's jaw before tugging a sensitive earlobe between her teeth and nipping gently, causing Hawke to close her eyes and let out a breathy sigh. She quickly cut off the sound, cursing herself for the way her body was reacting to such attention.

Isabela must have felt her tense, because she smiled against the side of Hawke's throat and murmured, "_Relax._ It's just Isabela. _Your_ Isabela."

"I'll relax," Hawke growled, trying to fight down the feeling rising in the pit of her stomach. "But not with you, demon."

Isabela pulled back and stared at her, then shrugged nonchalantly, her heavy earrings jangling. "I've been called worse, I guess."

Then she moved down and kissed Hawke again. The kiss was forceful, dominating, and left Hawke shivering hard. When she pulled away for breath, the mage was panting and glaring at her captor with a gaze that could have easily lit something on fire.

_It's not real_, she kept telling herself. _It just… sounds real. And smells real. And, Maker help me, it _feels_ real…_

_Just go with it_, that cloudy sensation murmured, sending a wave of pleasure through her body. _It's all right…_

"You're… a demon," she spat, determined not to lose her ground now. Isabela reared back, releasing her arms as she reached up and untied the bandana wrapped around her forehead. And despite every instinct screaming at her to throw the piratess off her, Hawke couldn't summon up the will to do so. She clenched her teeth and growled out, "I have to… have to kill you to save Merrill."

"Would you prefer her?" Isabela asked, cocking her head to one side. Her brown hair spilled down around her face now, framing those flashing amber eyes. "She's only a short skip down the street from here, you know. I'm sure she'd be happy to _oblige_ you."

Hawke squeezed her eyes shut as 'Bela grinned and waggled her eyebrows suggestively. "I can't…"

Her vision was growing hazy, her thoughts thick like she was half-asleep. It was hard to form words now, hard to focus on anything besides the scent and taste and feel of the beautiful woman on top of her. She couldn't remember how she got into this position, but she wasn't complaining. No, she wasn't complaining in the least.

"Can't resist?" Isabela said, undoing her heavy gold and emerald necklace. She tossed it carelessly to the side, letting it thump to the ground next to the cot. Next, she reached up and over her shoulders, pulling her hair so it fell down over her generous bosom. Hawke's heart was pounding, her hands having somehow drifted up to rest on the Rivaini's generous hips. Isabela quirked one eyebrow up, grinning widely as she pulled a long stiletto dagger from somewhere on her back and tossed it aside. Another dagger, from behind her belt, fell to the floor next to it and another from inside her boot soon after that. Once she had fully disarmed, the pirate queen reached up and slid her pristine white shirt from her shoulders.

The flimsy cloth jerkin fell down around the Rivaini's wide hips, and Hawke's eyes widened as Isabela crouched low over her again, lips hovering over Hawke's. Marian could feel the heat radiating from 'Bela's body, could feel the soft skin under her fingers as she clutched at the woman's hips. Her blood was boiling in her veins, her head hazy and her breath coming in short gasps as the need to touch and kiss and be pleasured coursed through her.

"Reward yourself for once, Marian," Isabela murmured, her breath tasting of whiskey and seduction. "You deserve some pleasure in your life. I can give it to you, if you let me."

Hawke gulped, knowing the next few seconds could very well condemn her. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. She lost herself in the deep amber of Isabela's playful gaze. She couldn't stop herself…

"Maker," she hissed, squeezing her eyes shut, "forgive me."

Then she surged forward and captured Isabela's lips with her own.

* * *

**Merrill's Nightmare**

She stepped through the grass, careful not to tread on any spiny leaves or nettle patches. The wind tugged at the tall pines surrounding her, whistling through the branches with an ambient hum that had become as familiar to her as her own breath.

She wrung her hands as she caught sight of the lone figure standing on the cliff overlooking the camp. Mahariel was staring out over the clustered collection of aravels with her hands folded across her chest, eyes trained resolutely forward. The wind tugged at her shoulder-length black hair, making it flutter around her ears.

Merrill anxiously stepped up next to the taller elf, following her gaze out over the camp. The halla were snorting in their pens and tossing their heads, as if they sensed something was wrong. All around the camp, everyone was solemn and quiet. People went about their duties with flat expressions and distracted gazes, as if everything that had made life bright and beautiful had suddenly dimmed.

It wasn't a surprise. Tamlen was still missing and now the clan had learned they were losing yet another hunter to the blight sickness the darkspawn had brought with them.

She risked a glance over at Lyna and saw that her tanned skin was even paler than before. She was getting worse. The darkspawn sickness was claiming her slowly, but its inevitable approach was plain for all to see. Lyna's bright blue eyes were bloodshot and tired, and she could barely draw back her bow any more. There was a rattle behind her breathing Merrill found frightening, as if the woman found it hard to draw breath.

Still, Merrill had to speak her mind before it was too late. The Grey Warden was taking her away at sunset, not long from now. The entire clan would be there to say their final farewells. This could very well be the last time she would see her friend in private.

She glanced down at her feet and cleared her throat awkwardly. "Lyna… I-I don't want you to go."

Mahariel said nothing.

Merrill pursed her lips and tried again. "I know you're sick, but… how can we trust this Grey Warden? How do we know his cure will work? What if we just… just let the Keeper look at the mirror and maybe-"

Mahariel interrupted her. "No. That mirror is evil, even now that it's broken. Everyone should stay away from it. You especially."

Merrill wrinkled her nose at the harsh note in her friend's voice. "What do you mean, _me especially?"_

Mahariel's gaze didn't move. "You're more susceptible to its influence than anyone. You're fascinated with dangerous things. Things you shouldn't be…"

Merrill blushed. "T-that's not exactly-"

Mahariel interrupted her again. "One way or another, I'm not going to be here to watch over you any more, Merrill. You'll need to be more careful. You need to protect yourself."

"Don't say that. You're not going to be gone forever!"

Mahariel's eyes grew sad. "Duncan says that I'll likely never return here. And the Keeper is moving the clan further north to flee the darkspawn. I've heard plans of going as far north as the Free Marches."

She looked over at Merrill, then quickly away again. "I'll… I'll miss you. I will."

Merrill nodded. "I'll miss you too."

Tears welled up in her eyes as Mahariel reached out and grasped her hand tightly, just as she had when they had been but children. Merrill remembered the first time she'd been stung by a bee while walking in the woods, when she'd been only seven summers old. She had only been stung on the shoulder, but she had quickly found it hard to breathe and her throat had begun to swell closed. The site of the sting had grown swollen and turned to a livid, angry red.

Mahariel had dragged her to the Keeper, both of them panicked and weeping in fear as Merrill choked and gagged. Marethari had murmured to her in soothing words as she bathed her with healing magic, telling her it was something called an allergy and that she would be fine. Merrill had been terrified, but throughout the whole ordeal, Lyna had held tight to her hand and never once let go.

She didn't want her to let go now. She felt like if Lyna let go now, she'd disappear forever.

"Is there no other way?"

Mahariel shook her head. "No. I'm sorry."

"Promise you'll write to me? You can send it by carrier raven, like the _shems_ in the cities. I wouldn't mind…"

Lyna smiled, letting out a dry laugh. "I will write. I promise."

Merrill nodded, biting at her lower lip as she squeezed at Mahariel's hand. She turned until she was facing the taller woman. She blinked fast, steeling herself for what she needed to do. "Lyna… look at me, please."

Mahariel turned to face her with a weary sigh, murmuring, "Merrill, I don't know what more there is to say. I just want to-"

She was abruptly cut off as Merrill threw her arms around her shoulders and kissed her. Lyna's eyes opened wide, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she wrapped her arms around Merrill's waist and kissed her back. Merrill felt a thrill of satisfaction rush through her at Lyna's acceptance.

This wasn't how it had happened the first time. Merrill remembered holding tight to Lyna's hand, trying to work up the courage to reveal her feelings. But the moment had passed and Mahariel had drawn away. Merrill had blushed furiously and abandoned all foolish thoughts of love and devotion and romance. Mahariel probably didn't even like her that way. The Dalish certainly didn't look kindly upon this sort of thing. What would the Keeper think?

But now none of it mattered; she was being given a second chance, and so she poured out all the feelings she'd pent up over the years. The stifled love, the hurt and rejection, the pain of abandonment… She threw herself over the precipice, tossing all else to the wind as she reveled in the feel of Mahariel's hair under her fingers and the taste of her lips. She smelled of pine needles and fresh grass and the scent filled Merrill's lungs in a sweet, hazy cloud of satisfaction. It felt _right, _kissing her here and now, without thought of blights or demons or long-lost friends. It was just her and Lyna, like it always should have been.

Lyna pulled back, letting out a soft breath, and Merrill let out a small sound of disappointment at the loss of sensation. But Lyna didn't go far; she traced her fingertips down Merrill's cheek, over the soft, curving tattoos that graced her cheekbones. Her eyes were wide, but held no trace of the disgust or rejection Merrill so feared. They were full of a joy that had been gone missing with Tamlen, just as unlikely to return.

"Merrill, I… I had no idea."

Merrill sniffed, looking down at her feet. "Well, I figured… if we're never going to see each other again, I might as well… might as well…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "It doesn't matter."

Lyna put a hand under her chin, tilting her face up to meet her gaze. "No, it does matter, Merrill. _You _matter. To me, and to the clan, and to Hawke."

"I don't think—" she broke off abruptly, her brows pulling down into a tight frown. "_Hawke?_ How do you know about Hawke?"

Her heart raced as realization crashed down on her. This wasn't Lyna, and it wasn't a product of her overtaxed imagination. It was _Validation_ in disguise again, just like before! She stepped back, drawing her staff from her back and leveling it at the demon masquerading as her oldest friend. She shook her head, saying, "No. No not again! Why won't you just _leave me alone_!"

But Mahariel didn't attack. In fact, she raised her hands in surrender and said, "Merrill… it's not what you think."

"Tell me what it is then!" Merrill cried, tears running down her cheeks. "I never wanted to be possessed! I didn't want some demon slithering around in my mind and… and now you're using _this _against me? Just _stop!"_

Suddenly, Lyna's eyes pulsed with light and her palms began to crackle with bright purple-white lightning. Her eyes stretched wide, glowing with pulsing magic. When she spoke, her voice was somehow… more. Stronger. Surer. More powerful.

"_Merrill,"_ she said, "_you must listen to me_."

"Victory? It… it was _you_ the whole time?"

"_Not exactly_," the spirit said, frowning. She looked as confused as Merrill was. "_I freed myself from Validation's clutches and came to assist you. But… Validation made me see things. Made me realize things about myself and about the Warden. It… it changed something."_

"So all of this," Merrill said, voice shaking. "The conversation, the… the kiss… it was all fake?"

"_No_," Victory said. "_No it wasn't. Somehow, Validation caused me to… unlock more of the Warden's personality within me. With it came… memories?"_

She put a hand to her tattooed forehead, as if she were in pain. When she spoke, her voice was soft and mournful. "_This was not fake, Merrill. It was… it was a piece of the Warden reacting to your presence. A small piece, but a piece nonetheless."_

Merrill's eyes widened. "So… so it was actually her? I actually…"

Victory nodded. "_Many things are possible in the Fade, _da'len_."_

"W-well bring her back! Bring her back, please, there's more I have to say! More I have to tell her!"

Victory shook her head and was about to speak when another voice cut her off. It was deep and gravelly, with a heavy Rivaini accent, and Merrill instantly remembered the man to whom it belonged.

"_It does not work that way."_

She slowly turned, hands clenching into fists and her face screwing up into furious rage. Standing behind her with sword and dagger drawn was a tall human man with dark skin and a bushy black beard. His armor was made of polished silver, marked with the scars of many battles. His eyes blazed red and his weapons were stained with blood.

_Duncan_. That was the name she had heard whispered on the lips of her clanmates upon his arrival. "The _shem_," she hissed, eyes narrowed to slits. Her heart was racing in her chest, blood pumping with barely-contained fury. "The Grey Warden. _You_ did this! You took Lyna away from me!"

The man sneered at her. "_She was never yours to begin with, elf. She served a far greater destiny than hiding away with you in these Maker-forsaken woods. She was a _hero_! With you, she would have belonged only to her people and her traditions. With me, she saved thousands! Hundreds of thousands!"_

Merrill shook her head. "Shut up. Shut up, I don't want to hear anything you have to say. You took her away, stole her from her _home_."

The man sneered deeper and raised his weapons. "_Her destiny was elsewhere. You never had claim to her."_

"I _loved_ her!"

The man laughed. "_Poor deluded Merrill. That does not make her yours to keep."_

He stepped toward her, and she felt Victory move into place at her shoulder, daggers drawn. The man towered over them both, a hulking colossus of leather, armor, and blades. His eyes pulsed malevolently as he growled, "_What do you think would have happened had she stayed? Do you really think she would have been yours? That is not the Dalish way, Merrill, and you know it."_

Merrill shook her head, but the Grey Warden relentlessly continued. "_The Dalish need _children_. The Keeper taught you this, did she not? Your people must replenish their numbers. They have no need for people like you."_

"Shut up!"

"_You lived in a fantasy world. Even had you found the courage to make your feelings known, Mahariel would have never agreed to it. She would have been given to one of the other hunters. They would have married and Lyna would have provided children. For the good of the clan."_

For the good of the clan. Merrill hated hearing that again. Her blood boiled in her chest, sending a furious pulse of heat down to the very soles of her feet. She hissed between her teeth and clenched her hands into shaking fists, fury boiling in her heart.

"It's always _for the good of the clan, _isn't it? We must give Lyna to the _shem_ for the good of the clan. We must travel north for the good of the clan. We must leave the mirror in ruin for the good of the clan. Merrill, we must send you away for the good of the clan."

She let out a short breath, her lips quivering. "Why must it _always_ be for the good of the clan? Why can't it be for _my_ good? Why can't it be _me_ who benefits?"

Victory glanced at her and murmured, "_Merrill…"_

But Merrill stormed away, throwing her staff into the crass as she tore her hands through her hair. "No! I deserved _better_ than this! I served the clan faithfully, and they _betrayed _me!"

She hunched over, covering her eyes with her hands as tears threatened to overwhelm her. "They _left _me… I gave them everything and they _left _me. Lyna and Marethari and Pol and Paivel… they never cared about me, did they? It was always just for the good of the clan…"

"_They abandoned you,"_ Duncan hissed from behind her. "_Left you on your own, away from everything you had ever known. They never cared for you because you were _better_ than they were. That frightened them."_

Victory cut in, pointing her daggers at Duncan's chest. "_Don't listen to him, Merrill. You know there are people out there who care about you. You know there are those who would sacrifice everything to help you."_

_"__Lies,"_ Duncan sneered. "_They saw how dangerous you were, Merrill, and they were _afraid_ of you, just like they were afraid of the mirror, and of the darkspawn. Because they knew you could grow into everything they could never be, that you could grow to master the mirror and its secrets. And Lyna was just the same, turning her back when you needed her most."_

_"__Merrill!"_ Victory pressed, stepping forward and putting a hand on her shoulder. "_Remember the memory! Remember the kiss! Lyna didn't want to leave, but she would have died if she hadn't! She had no choice!"_

_"__There is always a choice."_

_"__Remember Resolve and Justice," _Victory begged. "_Remember that Hawke cared enough to willingly enter the Fade to rescue you!"_

_"__Ah yes, Dear Hawke,"_ Duncan murmured. He sheathed his daggers and raised his arms. Magic crackled to life in his palms as his armor began to melt away into swirling shadow. His face faded into nothingness until all that was left was the crimson orbs of his eyes. His form shifted and twisted until what stood before them was a tall, shadowy feminine figure. When it spoke, it was with Validation's nightmarish hiss.

"_Let us see just how resolute your precious Hawke truly is_."

Then the magic pulsed out from the demon's hands and everything went black.

* * *

Hawke arched against Isabela's warmth, letting out a groan as she felt the other woman's lips quirk up into a smile against her collarbone. The Rivaini was sprawled over her, writhing against her sweat-slicked skin with an excited giggle. Hawke ran her hands down the smooth, hard muscles of her back, closing her eyes and losing herself in the sensations coursing through her body.

Their armor and clothing lay discarded carelessly on the floor beside the cot, long forgotten. Isabela's bandana was hanging from the post near her head, and Hawke's staff was propped up against the wall.

Isabela trailed a series of whisper-soft kisses down Hawke's chest, dipping lower and lower until Hawke arched her back and a grin pulled at her lips. "Stop teasing, 'Bela…"

Isabela grinned up at her, running her tongue back up to her collarbone. "I never tease, love. I just take my sweet time."

Hawke buried her hands in Isabela's thick brown hair as she felt the pirate's talented fingers trace patterns up her thigh, toward her hip. Her touch was as slow as a snail, yet as graceful as a dancer. Every caress was measured, every kiss carefully placed against heated skin with just the right amount of pressure to send a thrill of pleasure through Marian's body. Never before had she felt so willingly helpless before the skill of a lover. She wanted to stay here forever with this beautiful pirate and forget all about-

"H-Hawke?"

Her eyes flashed open in horror at the instantly-recognizable voice. In an instant, the hazy fog clouding her mind disappeared and it all came crashing back to her; where she was, what was happening, and why she was really here. She scrambled away, out from under Isabela, and drew the bedsheets up to her chest with wide eyes.

_No,_ he thought. _No, this can't be happening. Maker, how could I be so _stupid_?!_

Merrill was standing in the doorway, a look of utter shock and betrayal on her thin, tattooed face. Her hands were limp at her sides, her wide green eyes full of hurt. Hawke reached out a hand to her and stammered, "I-it's not what it looks like! It's not—"

"_Then what is it, Hawke?"_ Isabela's voice was suddenly dark and sinister and when Hawke looked over in horror, she saw that the pirate queen had transformed into a towering mass of shadow and flame. Validation rose up over her, piercing her with a livid red gaze.

The demon turned to Merrill and pointed a long, skeletal finger in direction. "_Do you see now, elf, how devoted your so-called friend truly is? If given the slightest provocation, she would turn her back on you like all the others. She is no better than Marethari, than Mahariel, than countless others who should be on their knees before you, _begging_ forgiveness for their betrayals!"_

Merrill just shook her head, eyes never leaving Hawkes. "Marian," she whimpered, "how _could _you?"

Hawke shook her head, praying to herself that it was all a dream, that it was just part of Validation's tricks. She had fallen for her disguise as Isabela, had been seduced by her power and influence. But this had to be all part of the twisted plan, right?

But the hurt in Merrill's eyes was real, as was the triumph in Validation's gaze. This was as horrifyingly real as it was going to get.

"_Strike her down, Merrill_," Validation said. A single bony hand reached out to the little elf and Hawke saw that resting in the demon's palm was a long, jagged-edged dagger. Validation presented it to the young Dalish and hissed, "_Kill her and prove that you are truly her better. She betrayed you, pursuing her own selfish desires when she should have been loyal to you. She deserves no better."_

Merrill slowly reached out and picked up the dagger.

_No,_ Hawke thought. _This can't be right. Merrill would never hurt me. She wouldn't…_

But there was a steel in the elf's eyes that Hawke didn't like, and the way her tiny fingers clutched at the hilt of the dagger was too convincing to miss. Merrill was _very_ serious. And that meant Hawke was in trouble.

"Merrill," she pleaded, eyes never leaving the knife as the bony elf stepped closer. "I swear on the Maker that I didn't know what I was doing. Validation _did_ something to me, to my mind. I'm _so_ sorry for this, but this isn't the way to make things right."

Merrill said nothing, eyes still wide as she stepped closer. Marian shrunk back against the wall, curling up with nowhere to go. "You're doing just what Validation wants! We… we can deal with this after this is all through, but this isn't the right way!"

Merrill reached the edge of the cot, the dagger clenched so tightly in her tiny fist that her fingers were white. She shook her head as she stared into Hawke's steel-grey eyes and whispered, "I _trusted_ you. And this is how you repay me?"

"Merrill, don't—"

"Close your eyes."

Hawke paused. Merrill's voice was quiet now, a hushed, conspiratorial whisper. She cocked her head, taken off guard by the sudden change, but Merrill hissed again, "I'm still me, Hawke, and I need you to trust me. Close your eyes."

She did trust Merrill, even now. She glanced at Validation, then thought, _If she really is going to kill me, at least I won't see it coming_. So she squeezed her eyes shut and waited to feel the dagger draw across her throat.

The end didn't come, at least not really. She cried out as she felt Merrill's dagger slice across her shoulder and dig deep into her flesh. Blood instantly poured from the wound, coating her arm in sticky hot warmth. Merrill whispered something and Hawke screamed as her blood suddenly scalded her skin, hissing loudly as it burned.

Her eyes flashed open just in time to see Merrill draw forth a thick red-black ball of magic from the blood that poured from the shallow wound. Her eyes blazed red as she held the ball in the air between her palms. As Hawke watched, she pushed the blood ball against her own chest and it burst into a wash of scarlet lightning that raced over Merrill's body and collected around her wrists.

"_What are you doing?"_ Validation growled.

"You tortured my friends," Merrill hissed, glaring up at Validation with furious red eyes. "You turned their greatest weaknesses against them, making them fight against themselves. You _played_ with them, like they were toys for a child."

"_They were false friends,"_ Validation hissed, crouching low and regarding Merrill with a wary gaze. "_They are no friends of yours. Only prey to your ambition. They should be bowing before your superiority, Merrill. They are nothing but—"_

Merrill ignored the demon and stepped forward, scarlet lightning crackling out from her palms. "You trapped me in this awful place, leeching off my worst memories like some kind of monster that takes pleasure from other people's pain. You're the _real_ parasite here, Validation, and I'm going to kill you like one."

"_But you're stronger than her! Smarter and braver and—"_

"I am," Merrill interrupted. "I wouldn't have made the same mistakes Hawke did. But even though I may be stronger and smarter and all of that, that doesn't make me _better _than her. I can forgive her for the things she's done to wrong me. I can _forgive_ her for her betrayals."

Her face twisted down in a furious scowl as she continued, "And that at least makes me better than _you_."

With that, she thrust her arms forward and sent a surge of blood-red lightning pouring from her fingertips. The storm enveloped Validation, encasing her in a cage of sparking, popping lightning. The demon screamed and writhed, flesh smoking and charring as the cage drew tighter and tighter. Then, as Validation's scream grew high enough to be painful to the ears, she suddenly burst into a cloud of smoke and ash and the red lightning cage vanished with a pop.

Merrill sighed, the red light dying from her eyes as her shoulders slumped. She took a moment to catch her breath, then turned back to Hawke. Marian was staring at her with wide eyes, the bedcovers unconsciously drawn up to her chin. Merrill took one look at her and let out an exhausted giggle.

"You look ridiculous, Hawke."

Hawke didn't laugh, slowly lowering the sheet to shoulder-level. "That… was that blood magic?"

Merrill nodded and sat on the edge of the cot. "I'm sorry, Hawke. But I had to use your blood. By attempting to… you know… with you, Validation was creating a very strong magical tether. She was trying to turn you into a new host, so she could jump to your body just like Victory and Justice said she would. I had to use your blood to sever that connection and banish her from here forever."

"Maker, Merrill," Hawke whispered, "I am _so _sorry. She just… she looked like Isabela, and somehow she made it hard for me to think, and…"

Merrill nodded, a sad look coming into her eyes. "Demons have a way of getting you right where you know it will hurt the most. I guess Validation saw that you were attracted to Isabela and decided to use it as a weapon against you. Many would have slipped up just like you."

There was something in the way Merrill said _Isabela _that made Hawke's heart clench. She wanted to reach out and grab the mage, to tell her that it was just a fantasy, that _she_ was the one Marian really wanted. But Merrill stood from the bed and walked to the door, head hanging low from disappointment and exhaustion.

Slowly, the world around them began to blur away into blackness. Hawke had a moment of vertigo, feeling as if she was free-falling through a void of infinite darkness. Then her vision began to return and she found herself standing in the tower once more, fully clothed with her staff in her hand. Merrill was standing several feet away, leaning heavily on her staff.

"We're back," the little elf murmured. "It's over."

A shout to their right drew their attention and Hawke saw that Validation had not given up on them just yet. The towering shadow figure was still among them, on her knees on the floor. A strong spectral wind swirled around her, tugging at the ragged black tapestries that adorned the walls of the circular room. The large glass doors overlooking the Black Lake blew open, banging against the stone wall and shattering into tiny sparkling fragments.

Justice stood before Validation, both hands stretched out in front of him. A pillar of blue-white light was roaring out from his palms, enveloping the demon in a bubble of roiling magic. Validation hunched low to the ground and let out an ear-splitting shriek that made Hawke's ears throb.

"_I have her contained!" _Justice roared. He grimaced against the blast of magic he was unleashing. "_She is weakened from her defeats! If we strike now, we can banish her to the physical realm!"_

Hawke's jaw tightened and she readily stepped forward with staff in hand. "Well what are we waiting for?"

"_No!" _Victory shouted at her over the maelstrom. The ground was beginning to shake now, and chunks of stone from the ceiling were caving into the room below. Merrill hopped out of the way as a piece of ceiling the size of her head crashed to the ground where she had been standing.

Victory grimaced against the buffeting wind and cried, "_Merrill, you must kill Validation! Sever her ties on this world and send her from this place!"_

Victory had certainly seen better days; her armor was bloody and torn, her hands shaking from exhaustion. She was very pale and looked like she could barely stand. Merrill must have seen this as well, because her eyes widened and she stepped toward the spirit. "You're hurt!"

Victory pushed the elven mage away. "_Now is not the time for this! Kill her and be done with it!"_

"But you're weak!" Merrill shouted back, raising her hand to block the wind tugging at them. Hawke had to strain to even hear her friend's voice over the gale. "I can't let you get pushed into my world in this state! You'd never survive the journey!"

Victory shook her head. "_My life doesn't matter, Merrill! What matters is that we kill Validation while we have the chance!"_

"But you'll die!"

Hawke projected a magical barrier over the two to shield them from a collapsing support strut from the ceiling. The rock shattered against the magical field, clattering to the stone around them. Hawke grimaced against the storm and shouted, "Merrill, we're out of time! We have to go!"

Victory's arms flashed out and grabbed Merrill's shoulders, holding her tight. "_This is a sacrifice I am willing to make! You must finish this, or see all suffer for your indecision! I cannot guide you any longer; you must take command now!"_

"But Victory—"

"_She would be very proud of you."_

Merrill's eyes widened, her hair tugged by the phantom wind buffeting them. Hawke didn't hear her voice, but could make out her lips forming the word _Lyna_. Victory nodded and said, "_She is… part of me now. The boundaries that once separated us are gone. We exist together now… She was an incredible woman. Far more than I could have imagined."_

The spirit held Merrill's gaze, her expression faltering to show… fear? Regret? Hawke had only known Victory for a short time, but seeing the emotion on the spirit's face seemed completely alien to her.

"_She loved you_," Victory murmured. "_In her own way. She thought of you often after you parted, and always thought you would go on to do great things. In that, she was-"_

Merrill interrupted Victory by pulling the spirit close and kissing her hard on the lips. Hawke watched, dumbfounded, as Victory kissed her back, holding tight to her shoulders. Then she pushed her away and shouted, "_Now go! Do what you were always meant to do."_

"Good-bye, Lyna."

Merrill didn't look back. She turned to Validation, drawing her sharp Fadestone staff from her back. The wind tore at her bloodstained robes, sending dirt and chips of stone into her face, but she walked resolutely forward. There was a determination and courage in her posture that Hawke had never seen before; it was incredible to see the nervous little elf this way. Her hands were clenched into fists at her side and she projected a protective barrier around herself as she reached Justice's shoulder.

"Do it!" she called. "Let her go!"

Justice nodded, dissipating Validation's cage with a flick of his wrists before staggering away and shielding his face from the wind. Hawke stepped forward to stand with Merrill, but Victory caught her arm and held her back.

"_No,"_ the spirit said, her voice leaving no room for argument. _"She must do this alone. You cannot help her here."_

Hawke looked back to her friend, standing alone before the full might of Validation's rage. The demon reared back, towering over her. She was no longer a swirling mass of shadows in the form of a female body; now her shadows undulated and writhed all around, forming into a great cloud that towered high over Merrill, until the little elf had to crane her neck up to meet the blazing red gaze of the demon. _Her _demon.

Validation's voice was full of hate. "_You have no idea the gravity of your mistake, Merrill."_

"I'm through talking," Merrill said, her voice steady and clear. She raised her staff above her head. "I want my world back."

"_Then come and take it." _

Validation suddenly surged forward, the cloud of shadow roaring down around her until she was lost from view. Hawke's heart plummeted and she wrenched her arm from Victory's tight grip, sprinting forward and shouting, "Merrill!"

Justice's strong arms caught her around the shoulders and dragged her back to a safe distance. Hawke struggled against the spirit's iron grip, shouting, "You can't do this! I have to help her!"

"_If you do,"_ Justice hissed in her ear, "_all of this will be for nothing. Merrill must do this _alone_. Do you understand? If we intervene, we risk ruining everything."_

"You can't expect me to just stand by and let that _thing_ kill me friend! I have to-"

Victory's voice cut her off. "Look!"

The shadows parted, swirling around a sphere of green light that pulsed with magical discharge. Standing in the middle of the sphere, staff still raised high, was Merrill. She was covering her face with one arm, struggling mightily to resist the onslaught of power. At the sight of her, Hawke redoubled her efforts to break free of Justice's grasp, but could not.

With a mighty effort, Merrill straightened and grasped her staff with both hands. The green light pouring from the tip redoubled, growing to an almost blinding intensity. Hawke watched with wide eyes as the light began to smother out Validation's undulating shadows. A sharp crackle sounded over the air, like a fresh jolt of electricity, and suddenly the light flared so bright it drowned out everything.

Hawke saw the world go white, and a second later, Merrill screamed.

* * *

Resolve looked up to the sky to see all the windows of Validation's tower shatter outward, beams of green light erupting from within. All around him, the sounds of battle ceased as spirits and demons alike looked up to the spectacle in the sky. All the creatures present, from the lowliest wisp to the mightiest pride demon, turned their attention to the heavens above and watched with undivided attention.

A high-pitched scream was carried to them on the wind as dark clouds gathered and began to swirl around the highest point of the tower. Resolve's glowing blue eyes widened as he heard the telltale roar of a pride demon from high above, shot through with rage, irritation, and _fear_. A crack of thunder drowned out the roar, and a brilliant fork of lightning lit up the dark sky.

Valor stepped up to his shoulder, also looking high above them. His armor was black with demon blood, his sword chipped and dull from wear. His eyes were wide behind the visor of his helmet as he murmured, "_What is happening?"_

Resolve let out a low chuckle. "_Our little mortal is winning."_

* * *

Merrill stood amidst Validation's roiling darkness, using every ounce of mana at her disposal to simply keep the demon at bay. She conjured a powerful magical barrier to keep the darkness away, her muscles quivering as she fought to keep up the flow of magic.

Her blood magic was exhausted, her elemental magic was no use, and her spirit magic was the only thing keeping her from an assuredly violent death. Validation swirled around her like the dark clouds of a hurricane, those piercing red eyes constantly roving around her and keeping her within the demon's sight.

"_You had such promise, Merrill!"_ Validation roared. "_I could have given you everything! Wealth, fame, respect! And yet you choose to throw it all away?"_

"You were never going to give me anything," Merrill said through clenched teeth. Validation threw herself at the barrier, to no avail. Merrill flinched from the attack but didn't back down. "You only wanted to take. My body, my friends, my _life…"_

She fixed her eyes on her bare feet, dirty and bloody from the fighting, in an attempt to escape that blazing scarlet gaze. She poured even more magic through _Hellathen_ and watched as the green light of her barrier grew even stronger. "Now I'm going to take it all back."

_She would be proud of you_. Victory's words still echoed in her mind, as did the kiss that had soon followed. At this point, it didn't matter if a piece of Lyna resided in the spirit or not. She was close enough, and that was good enough for Merrill.

Victory had faith in her. Justice had faith in her. Hawke had faith in her. She could _do _this.

She grimaced against the strain of keeping up the flow of magic. Her muscles began to quiver and burn, sweat beading along her forehead. She could feel every injury of the past few fights like they were all fresh, but she forced herself to continue. She couldn't fail now. Everyone was depending on her.

Validation continued to pry at her mind, tempting her with images of power and respect and devotion, but Merrill pushed them out. She thought of Lyna's smile, of Resolve's deep chuckle, of the way Hawke's eyes had lit up when they had met again in the Fade. She thought of Varric's stories and Isabela's dirty songs and the books Fenris had given her. Her friends. That was what she was fighting for, what she was fighting to return to.

And most of all, she thought of Hawke's flowers. Andraste's Grace, from Ferelden. They were beautiful, with white petals and a bright orange center. Their scent was overpowering for such a tiny flower, easily chasing away the stink of Lotown or the overpowering aromas of the Brecilian Forest. She remembered how she and Lyna used to pick them as children, hanging over the entrance flaps of the aravels during the summer. She remembered they blush that had colored Hawke's cheeks when she'd handed the bouquet to Merrill, shyly avoiding her gaze and murmured, "Maybe they'll brighten up the place."

_Those flowers_, she thought, her face a mask of determination and power. She felt mana surge through her at the thought. _I'm going to return to those flowers. And Creators be damned, I'm going to keep them alive this time. I just have to beat Validation and I'm as good as there._

She felt the demon weakening; her thrashing attacks at the barrier were growing softer, less insistent. The green light began to overpower the shadow surrounding her. As the darkness began to clear, she saw Hawke struggling to reach out to her, to help her. Justice had her in a near-headlock, holding her back from the battle.

Merrill's heart surged at the sight and the magic pouring from _Hellathen_ grew to an almost blinding intensity.

"_If you do this_," Validation whispered in her ear, "_you will not find peace. Dark and dangerous roads lie ahead of you, elf. If you end it here, you _will_ walk them alone."_

"No," Merrill said, turning back to meet the demon's gaze. "I won't."

A scream of effort tore itself from her throat as she thrust her staff forward and the world exploded into white. Validation's presence was violently torn away and Merrill found herself pulled along with it. It felt as if the entire world had been caught by the invisible pull of an ocean riptide, drawing her along through a void of pure white to a destination she could not even imagine.

_Did I do it? _she thought as the world spun and whirled around her.

_Is it over?_

* * *

_Author's Note: Apparently this was the big romance-themed chapter. I guess when your life is at stake, all you can think about is schmoozing on your crush. I can think of worse ways to start off a climactic final battle._

_Also, closure! Sort of, at least. I always felt really bad for Merrill, never knowing what really happened to Lyna even while her clan kept telling her to accept that she was either dead or had abandoned them. She obviously never gave up hope that she would see her friend again. Now she got to say one last good-bye to Mahariel, at least in a certain fashion._

_I'm also going to kick this story up to an M rating, since this story has grown to include more sex/violence/language than usual. I tried to censor myself in this chapter and at least keep it classy if not clean (no easy feat, I can tell you) but a sex scene is still a sex scene. There's only so much you can take out before it starts sounding juvenile._


	25. First Tentative Steps - The Final Battle

**Anders' Clinic, Darktown**

After a solid three hours of inactivity, Leliana was starting to get nervous. Hawke and Merrill showed no signs of waking and their compatriots were getting more and more agitated. Isabela was throwing daggers into the wall, claiming to be testing her aim, Varric was grumbling as he scribbled something onto a piece of parchment into the corner, and Anders and Fenris were at each other's throats about mage rights – a common argument, Leliana was led to believe.

So when Hawke suddenly arched her back and let out a sharp gasp, all eyes instantly turned to her. The mage writhed on her pallet, gasping for breath and staring around with wide, terrified eyes. Her breath came to her in sharp, hissing wheezes as if her lungs could not take in air quickly enough.

Anders was instantly at her side. "Easy," he said, kneeling by her cot with a mug of water at the ready. He brought the cup to her lips, cupping the back of her head and gently urging her to drink. "You've been out for hours. We were worried…"

Hawke choked and spat up most of the water, rubbing at her throat. "_Maker_…" she croaked. "Remind me never to go back to the Fade again. That was… that was terrible."

She tried to sit up and instantly groaned, clutching at the stitches in her side as if she had forgotten they were there. She fixed Leliana with a pained stare and hissed, "Any… updates for me?"

Leliana shook her head. "Nothing of note, Marian. Things have been quiet since you consumed the lyrium and fell into a trance. Merrill has been sleeping peacefully the entire time."

Hawke's eyes widened and she muttered, "Merrill!"

With a grunt of effort, she finally succeeded in rising to her feet and – with Anders' support – limped over to Merrill's cot not far away. The little Dalish was sleeping quietly, delicate hands folded over her stomach and her head tilted slightly to one side. A strand of hair had fallen across her face and now fluttered with every breath.

Hawke sat on the cot next to her friend while Aveline quickly rallied the others. The guard captain drew her sword and gestured to the others in the clinic. "If Hawke is awake," she said, "that means the demon can't be far behind. Get to your positions and get ready for a fight."

Everyone but Varric dispersed to their assigned locations spread through the clinic. The dwarf, however, hefted Bianca into his hands and fed a bolt into the weapon. His job was to get Merrill to safety once the fight started, and he was obviously taking his job very seriously. He had spent most of the past three hours tinkering with his crossbow, making sure it was in top shape for the coming battle, and had outfitted a special series of bolts with heads embedded with special lyrium shards that would be especially damaging to the demon. He had also made similar arrows for Leliana.

Hawke, meanwhile, gently reached out and pulled Merrill into a sitting position, a hand linked around the little elf's waist. Merrill didn't wake, her head lolling forward onto Hawke's shoulder. Marian straightened her out, brushing the wayward strand of hair behind her long, pointed ear before gently squeezing her shoulder.

"Merrill?" the mage breathed. "Are you in there?"

There was no response.

Hawke pursed her lips, fear blossoming in her eyes. "Merrill? Please open your eyes."

Again, no response.

Leliana shared a worried glance with Anders. They both knew the damage that could be caused by this kind of exorcism. There was a good chance Merrill could never wake.

"Hawke…" Anders said slowly.

"No," Hawke shot back, her voice as hard as stone. "She was right behind me. She'll… she'll wake up any second now..."

She turned back to her friend, holding her close. She hesitated, then leaned forward and rested her smooth forehead against the pale, tattooed surface of Merrill's. She closed her eyes and took a deep, shaky breath.

"Merrill," she whispered. "If you're in there, I need you to wake up. Please?"

Leliana recognized the hitch in the mage's breath, the pleading note in her voice, and the longing look in her eyes. She knew it all too well, from a time when the same feelings roiled in her own heart. This conversation was not for her, nor was it for the feathery mage that stood at her side. She reached out and put a hand on Anders' shoulder. "We should prepare. Hawke… needs to be alone."

"What? I'm not leaving her alone with a—"

The hand on his shoulder squeezed insistently. "What is about to be said is not for our ears, Anders. Give Hawke some privacy. We will prepare in the next room."

"I don't…" Anders' eyes suddenly lit up with understanding. "Oh. Right."

Leliana nodded in thanks as the man turned to join the others. She followed close behind, pausing only as she passed Varric. Her lips set in a grim line, she looked down at the stoic dwarf and nodded to his crossbow. "If it comes to it," she murmured so Hawke would not overhear, "are you willing to do what must be done?"

The dwarf nodded silently, flexing his grip on the crossbow's handle. Leliana needed no more encouragement. She walked away and did not look back. Before she left the room, though, she looked to the heavens and closed her eyes.

_Maker_, she silently prayed, _take pity on this woman. Do not break her heart like you broke mine._

* * *

Hawke cradled Merrill's limp body in her arms, gently rocking her back and forth as she pleaded for her to wake up. Her friend made no move to do so. The elf's skin was cold, her breath shallow, and no matter what Hawke said she stayed in her trance-like state. Hawke didn't pull away, still resting her head against Merrill's and feeling the girl's soft hair tickle her forehead.

The others were gone. Now she had to say what had been plaguing her for months. She may never get the chance again.

"Merrill," she murmured, "I don't know if you can hear me, but… I-I don't want to lose you to this demon. I _won't_ lose you to this demon. You gave yourself up to it so you could save us. You should never have had to make that decision. Not for me."

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to steady her pounding heart. "When I first met you on Sundermount, I thought you were… strange. You were nervous and silly, and you used a power I didn't trust, but somehow I _did_ trust you. And even though every instinct in my body said to leave you alone in the alienage and not get mixed up with your problems and your blood magic, something drew me back. And the more I got to know you, the more I understood what you were going through…"

Her voice caught. "I wanted to protect you. I wanted to keep you safe from all the people who wanted to tear you down. But I… I think I failed. Validation managed to exploit you, make you think no one really liked you. And I'm willing to accept that I failed, but I'm not… I'm not willing to let you go without a fight. Not without telling you…"

She let out a short huff of breath. "Not without telling you how important you are to me. You've made my life brighter in the time I've known you, Merrill. And I don't want to lose that.

"I found you when I was at my lowest, sure that life as I knew it was over. My sister was dead, my brother hated me, and my uncle had all but sold me into servitude." She sniffed. "But then you appeared, and you showed me there was still beauty in the world. You took me walking through the forests on the Wounded Coast and introduced me to your friends in the alienage, and taught me more about magic than my father ever dreamed. You brought me back from that dark place…"

She squeezed Merrill's shoulders, tears welling in her eyes. Her voice finally broke as she managed to choke out, "So please, _please_ don't be gone. Let me return the favor. Let me take you out of the dark, and—"

She broke off as she felt a cold, shaky hand cup her cheek. Her eyes flew open and she found herself staring into the deep, bottomless green of Merrill's eyes. Then, equally cold lips brushed against her own as Merrill pulled her close for a cautious, hesitant kiss. Hawke sucked in a shocked breath, going as stiff as a post. Was it truly happening? Was Merrill truly kissing her? Or was this all a figment of her overstressed imagination? Was it all a trick, like Isabela's specter in the Fade?

But the soft, velvet-like lips pressing insistently against hers, the slender, dexterous fingers tangling in her messy hair, and the tense and anxious body in her arms were all _very_ real. So Hawke kissed her back, holding her close and never wanting to let go. She inhaled Merrill's scent, warm and sweet like the forest in summer. Those slim fingers traced to the back of her neck, holding her in a tight and desperate embrace. Her breath tasted of warm tea and chocolate, and Hawke found herself going a little lightheaded at the sensations all pulling at her attention.

Slowly, reluctantly, they parted and Merrill blinked, looking as dazed as Hawke felt. But when her eyes once again focused and found Hawke's, a wide smile pulled at her lips. She cupped Hawke's cheek again, brushing the pad of her thumb over the human's cheekbone.

"Hello, Hawke."

Hawke burst into joyous tears, hugging the lanky elf close and burying her face in Merrill's neck. Merrill returned the embrace, letting out a happy giggle as she patted Hawke's armored back. "It's okay, Hawke… Shouldn't I be the one crying with happiness at being back?"

Hawke drew back and sniffed, wiping the tears away. "I know, I just… I thought I had lost you, and…"

"Ssh, _ma vhenan_," Merrill murmured. She put a finger against Hawke's lips, silencing her. "I'm fine. I'm very sore, and _very_ thirsty, but I'm all right."

"You… you heard? What I said before…"

Merrill nodded. "It was a little fuzzy, but… I heard enough. We can… we can talk about it, perhaps? Later, of course."

Hawke nodded, reluctantly letting go and moving back on the cot. Merrill rubbed her forehead with a pained sigh, looking up at her surroundings. A weary smile tugged at her lips. "It's… it's strange being back here. It feels like it's been so long. I can't even believe it was only yesterday morning that I was here last."

"It's been a hell of a long day," came a familiar gravelly voice to their right. Merrill turned and a happy grin lit up her features as Varric strode forward with Bianca still cradled in his arms. Despite the weariness in his voice, the dwarf was positively beside himself, grinning from ear to ear.

"Varric!" the little elf cried. She threw her arms out and hugged the dwarf with a happy laugh. "It's so good to see you again!"

"Likewise, Daisy," the dwarf said with a crooked grin. "It was pretty touch-and-go there for a while. You feeling all right?"

Merrill nodded, pulling away and resting her hands in her lap. "Better than ever. Well… no, that's actually not true. But better than before. It feels so _strange_ to be back in my body, after all that time in the Fade."

"You'll get the chance to fight for that right soon enough," Varric said. "If you're all well and good, that means the demon should be right on your heels."

Merrill's eyes darkened. "Validation. She'll be here any minute, won't she?"

"Yeah. Don't worry, though. I'll get you somewhere safe."

Merrill shook her head and tried to rise. She reached for an invisible staff and stumbled, as if forgetting that she was weaponless. The angular Fadestone staff Hawke had seen her wield in the Fade was gone, and they had no replacements to give her.

Hawke put a concerned hand on her shoulder. "I know you want to help, but you're still weak. We need to keep you safe until this is all over."

"And what about you?" Merrill demanded. "You're hardly in better shape! Creators, just _look _at you…"

Hawke was indeed a rough sight to see; her armor was stained with blood, torn and smoking in more than a few places. She walked with a pronounced limp and she could barely bend at the waist without crying out in pain. She had a black eye and a cut lip, and her muscles quivered just with the effort of standing. But Anders could see to all that later, after everyone was safe.

"Look," Hawke said, putting her hands on Merrill's shoulders once more. "I promise it'll all be okay. We have _everyone_ here; even Fenris! We can handle whatever comes out of the Fade. It'll all be all right."

"I…" Merrill looked like she was going to try and fight Hawke's decision. But her shoulders quickly slumped and she just nodded. "I hope you're right." She was focusing on something just over Hawke's shoulder, and the mage turned to find Anders striding determinedly toward them, his staff in his hands. But unlike before, his skin now crawled with lightning and his eyes were consumed by smoky blue light.

"Justice," Hawke said, her expression grim. "How lovely to see you again."

"Oh good." Varric grimaced at the spirit's approach. He shook his head and muttered, "It's always such a pleasure when Sparkles decides to show up…"

"Come," the spirit said with Anders' lips. He halted in front of them and gestured to the room he had just left. "A rift has formed and she is coming. We do not have much time."

Hawke nodded and the spirit turned and strode away without another word. She turned back to Merrill and shot her friend the most encouraging smile she could muster. The little elf gave her a reassuring nod, then pulled her close for a tight hug.

Looking over Merrill's shoulder, Hawke met Varric's gaze and held it with steely determination. "You keep her safe. All right?"

Varric raised Bianca and gave the crossbow an affectionate pat on the stock. "We'll hide her away like a Grand Cleric's collection of dirty books. Kirkwall will freeze over before you can find us, you can count on it."

Hawke nodded, squeezing Merrill's hand gently in farewell. "Stay safe, you two. Varric, you're buying the first round of drinks after this is all over."

"Hell," the dwarf grunted, "if we all make it out of this, I'll buy you all the drinks you want, Hawke. Dwarf's honor."

"Marian!" came Justice's insistent call from the next room.

She quickly stood and scooped up her staff. "All right. See you two on the other side."

Then she strode away to join the others while Varric led a tender and limping Merrill through the back door and out into Darktown. Hawke watched them go, then tightened her jaw resolutely and hefted her staff into a secure two-handed grip.

_All right, demon, _she thought with a dark scowl. _Now it's time for some payback._

* * *

A hole had opened up in the center of the clinic. It was bright and green and pulsating and it hovered in the air like a livid green cloud that roiled with smoke, electricity, and emerald-black crystal. It sparked and crackled with every second that passed, the crystals flexing and growing. It let out a sharp hiss and a thin tendril of lightning shot out and danced along the dirt ground, burning it black before it whipped back into the fog and disappeared.

If Justice was right, this was a rift; a tear that slashed right through the Veil and into the Fade. Through it, demons could come and go as they wished. But this rift, unlike the one in the mine in Sundermount, would be closed by powerful restorative magic by the spirits of the Fade once Validation and Victory were through. Hawke hoped that plan was more than wishful thinking.

Aveline stood resolutely in front of the rift, shield raised and eyes narrowed. Fenris stood at her side, hefting his greatsword in a two-handed grip with his olive-green eyes never leaving the crackling rift. They were their first line of defense against Validation, as Victory was sure to be weak – not to mention potentially corrupted herself – once she exited her own world.

Anders, or Justice or whichever persona was in control, was standing near the entrance to the clinic's back rooms, where they had moved the patients. He would protect the innocent people within from Validation's wrath. The blade of his staff was planted stubbornly in the ground at his feet and his raging blue-white eyes were fixed on the rift with simultaneous anticipation and unease at what was about to emerge.

Hawke was standing with Isabela behind the floating rift, waiting with bated breath for what was going to happen next. The tension in the air was so thick it was almost visible, and all attention was fixed on the swirling fog and sizzling lightning shooting out from the green-black knot of crystal in the air.

Isabela cocked her head, resting one hand on her hip as she stared at the rift with a single raised eyebrow. She glanced at Hawke, then back at the rift, then back at Hawke. Eventually she cleared her throat and said, "So… can I touch it?"

"What? No!"

"It's not like it's _doing_ anything. Besides, that crystal in the center could probably fetch a pretty price in the Darktown markets…"

"You do remember that any second now a demon is going to come spilling out of that thing?"

"All the more reason to grab the crystal while I can."

Justice cut in with his warbling, booming voice. "I would advise against it, pirate. Objects from my realm have a violent reaction with objects from yours. If you were to attempt to remove the crystal from the rift, the ensuing blast would probably vaporize your arm to the shoulder."

'Bela rolled her eyes. "Fine, fine. I'll leave it alone. Just stop being so melodramatic. I thought Anders was bad…"

"I do not understand."

"You wouldn't."

"Shut up," Fenris hissed, raising his weapon. The rift crackled suddenly, sending out a brilliant tendril of lightning that snaked lazily through the air. "Something is happening."

The rift sputtered again and the tendril of lightning pulsed a brilliant white before shooting forward and anchoring to the ground. Isabela hopped back, lightning sparking right at her feet. A fine green mist began to rise from the charred dirt floor, and Hawke could see something begin to take form in the fog.

Simultaneously, a second tendril anchored itself to the ground on the opposite side of the rift, and a smaller shape began to form in the mist that wafted up into the air. Justice leveled his staff, charging up a sickly green orb of light from the crystal at the end.

"Be ready," he growled. "We are about to begin."

Isabela's daggers were instantly in her hands. "How do we know which one will be the friendly one?"

"The one that's nine feet tall and made of living shadows," Hawke supplied, "is _not _the friendly one. Trust me; you'll know the demon when you see it."

"That fills me with confidence, Marian."

Another crackle from the rift and the undulating form on the far side of the room began to solidify. Hawke saw the first glimpses of polished silverite armor with blue fabric trim. It was a small woman, curled into a tight ball and shivering hard.

_Victory made it through, then_, she said, narrowing her eyes. _But in what state? Merrill said the transition could turn her into a demon. The last thing we need is two of those bastards running amok in here._

The foggy figure on her side of the rift was materializing too, and Hawke saw a long, skeletal arm with fingers capped by long talons. She shivered as the hand clenched into a shaking fist. A few seconds later Validation fully materialized, huddled up on the ground as shadows roiled around her body.

She was a hideous thing; a rail-thin, emaciated corpse of a creature with green-black Fade crystals jutting out of her body like fragments of broken bone. Her fingers were long and spidery, and dark locks of stringy, greasy hair hung down around her eyes. She was clad in a worn and bloodstained black robe, torn and patched in many places.

The demon's true form was a pitiful sight, holding none of the power and magnificence of the shadow-shrouded wraith that had hounded them in the Fade. Marian found herself sneering at the huddled mass of flesh and bone on the ground in front of her, but knew better than to underestimate the demon. She'd done that before, in the nightmare with Isabela's doppelganger, and it had only caused her trouble.

Unfortunately, the real Isabela didn't share her caution. She raised her daggers and stepped forward with a self-assured chuckle. "Well, we have our demon. Let's get this over with."

She raised her daggers to strike as Hawke reached out a hand and said, "Isabela, wait! We don't know-"

Too late for both of them. The rift crackled one more time, then exploded, erupting into a fountain of sparks and green white light before fading away into nothingness. Within the blink of an eye, the greenish fog evaporated and the two figures emerging from the rift materialized into solid form.

Before Hawke could stop the pirate or the daggers cold descend, one of the demon's skeletal arms flashed up and snatched Isabela by the throat. The piratess sputtered, eyes stretching wide, as she was hoisted high into the air. Hawke tensed, but couldn't think of a thing to do that wouldn't just hasten Isabela's end.

Like a rearing dragon unfolding its wings, Validation gracefully floated up to a standing position, straightening to her full height. She dragged 'Bela with her, the pirate's feet dangling off the ground as she clutched at the leathery skin of the hand wrapped around her throat. Red eyes blazed to life and a dark and gravelly voice rumbled from the demon's black lips.

"All of you have made the greatest mistake of your short lives."

Then she drew back and threw Isabela through the air. The pirate smashed through one of the sandstone pillars supporting the ceiling, crashing to the ground in a limp mass before being buried under the rubble.

"Bela!" Hawke gestured to the others. "Go, go! I'll make sure she's all right!"

Validation whirled, arms stretched wide as Fenris and Aveline rushed her. Justice darted in and grabbed Victory's limp arm, dragging the limp spirit away from the battle.

Aveline charged forward with her shield raised, slamming it against Validation's chest with a furious roar. Her sword followed next, but the blade barely touched Validation's chest before the demon batted her away with a swat from the back of her hand. The guard captain sprawled to the ground in a crash of armor plating, staggering back to her feet as she shook dust from her hair.

Fenris was next, leaping into the air and bringing his blade down in a powerful strike that Hawke had seen cleave a man's head in two. But Validation didn't even bother to dodge the blow and the weapon clashed harmlessly against her chest. As Fenris staggered back, reeling from the resistance of the attack, the demon surged forward and drove her fist into his chest, throwing him back against the wall. He collapsed into a heap.

Leliana opened up now, firing down on Validation from her position on a balcony across the room. Her arrows bit deep into Validation's stone-studded flesh, but the demon shrugged them off like irritating bug bites. She towered over Aveline as the woman crouched behind her heavy shield. A single bony hand raised up, then smashed down against the shield, driving Aveline to her knees.

"Even weakened and in physical form," the demon snarled, "you are no match for me, mortals."

Before she could attack again, Fenris leaped into the fray once more and slammed his sword down across Validation's outstretched forearm. The blade sliced down through flesh and bone, severing the arm at the elbow. The dismembered limb burst into ash as soon as it parted from Validation's arm, but the demon simply reared back as another hand slithered into place, materializing from the shadows that roiled around her body.

"Foolish elf," she hissed. Fenris' next blows bounced harmlessly off her chest and arms. "No mortal blade can kill me. I am beyond you. Begone."

She flicked her wrist and Fenris was hurtled back through the air once more, propelled by invisible hands until he crashed right through one of the wooden pillars holding up Leliana's balcony. The entire construct wobbled and collapsed on top of him, throwing the Nightingale to the dusty ground with a cry of pain.

Validation battered Aveline's shield away before her arm struck forward and grabbed the redhead by the chest plate. Validation hauled her into the air, then pivoted and slammed her back to the ground with enough force to kick up a cloud of dust. Aveline's grip on her weapons slackened and her sword and shield bounced away.

Validation straightened as the defenders slowly recovered themselves, staring at them all with a haughty scarlet gaze. "You think you can best me?" she hissed. "I, who have brought Pride to heel with a single gaze? I, who have conquered vast fortresses within the Fade? You are nothing."

She turned and scowled at Justice, her fiery red gaze meeting his lightning-infused blue one. A sneer curled her lips as she took in Victory's huddled form at his feet.

"Less than nothing."

* * *

"'Bela?" Hawke demanded, pulling away heavy blocks of sandstone from the pile that had come raining down when the pillar had collapsed. "'Bela, can you hear me?"

She needed to get Isabela out of here quick; the pillar had weakened the roof supports, and the ceiling above her head was bulging out an alarming amount already. If she wasn't fast, this entire section of the clinic could collapse in on them, trapping them both. She tried her best to keep disturbing memories of Sundermount out of her vision. She had already been through enough cave-ins to last a lifetime.

Moving the blocks by hand was taking too long; Hawke stepped back and put one hand to her temples, concentrating hard as she felt mana surge through her. She stretched out her other hand and the pile of sandstone trembled and lifted into the air. Guiding the floating mass with dexterous flicks of her fingers, she levitated the rubble into a near-neat stack and wedged it as tightly as she could under the lowest part of the roof. It was far from pretty, but it might just buy them more time.

Hawke instantly rushed to the side of the limp body that was now revealed. Bela was lying on her back, her dark hair splayed out around her head. Her eyes were closed and her arm was lying at a painful-looking angle. Her face was bruised and her pristine white shirt was stained with dirt and blood.

Hawke felt to her knees next to Isabela, putting a hand on her shoulder and shaking her gently. When that didn't work, she reached down and pulled the other woman into a sitting position, a hand on each of her shoulders. "Isabela, you need to wake up. The others need our help."

Hawke's heart crawled up out of her gut as the pirate queen stirred and groaned. Her eyes were hazy and unfocused, but sharpened when she laid eyes on Hawke. "Ugh…" she grunted, shaking her head. "And here I was expecting a knight in shining armor."

"Yes, well," Hawke pulled 'Bela to her feet, a steadying hand on the other woman's shoulder as her knees buckled underneath her. He quickly regained her balance and Hawke shook her head. "We seem to be running low on Prince Charmings at the moment, so you'll have to make do with me."

"Oh, I'll do more than make do," 'Bela said with a little more of her trademark seductive humor. "If I recall correctly, the last time _you_ decided to up and die on us, I rewarded your return with a kiss…"

"I'll return the favor later," Hawke said, scooping up her staff and ignoring the ill-timed come-on. "For now, we have a demon to kill."

Isabela huffed out a frustrated sigh. "All right. Business before pleasure. As usual."

Marian broke into a jog, following the sounds of battle. She had just made it to the scene of the battle when Fenris went flying over her head, smashing through the balcony supports and sending Leliana tumbling to the ground far below.

"You think you can best me?" Validation cried, towering high over Aveline's limp form. "I, who have brought Pride to heel with a single gaze? I, who have conquered vast fortresses within the Fade? You are nothing. Less than nothing."

Hawke had a window; Validation's back was to her and the demon didn't know she was there. She quickly drew her staff back, charging up a powerful fireball that would wipe that smug look right off the demon's ravaged face. Before anything could stop her, she thrust her staff forward and unleashed the destructive spell, shouting, "Aveline! Keep your head down!"

The guard captain dutifully covered her head with her shield as the fireball spell exploded against Validation's back, sending sparks flying and explosive tendrils of flame roaring through the air. Hawke followed up with a flurry of quick shots of magic from her staff to keep the demon overwhelmed. Leliana appeared at her shoulder, pouring a steady flow of Varric's special lyrium-studded arrows into their target. Validation staggered back under the onslaught and Hawke threw even more mana into the attack, whirling her blade over her head and slamming it into the ground to unleash a cloud of magical bolts that screeched through the air and peppered the demon's thick hide with fire.

"Isabela! Go!"

The pirate queen darted forward and tossed a clay pot into the air. With a whirling kick, she sent it flying across the room to shatter against Validation's chest. As it burst, a cloud of thick, noxious gas enveloped the demon's head and torso, obscuring her vision. Isabela seized the advantage and darted in, leaping up and stabbing both daggers deep into Validation's back. The demon let out an unearthly roar and flailed, but 'Bela had learned from last time and ducked out of the blow's reach, tucking her weapons close to her chest as she slashed at Validation's unprotected feet. The demon fell to her knees, writhing and screaming obscenities at the rogue that hassled her.

As Isabela continued the attack from the front, Aveline clambered to her feet and grasped her sword firmly in both hands, raising it above her head and plunging it down into Validation's back. The demon arched against the blade, dark blood pouring from the wound as her scarlet eyes flared with pain and shock. She pushed the tall woman away and staggered toward the other room, flailing her arms wildly to fend off her attackers. Flame still licked at her arms and neck as Hawke continued to fire off magical bolts in her direction. Leliana supported her with lyrium-studded arrows that made Validation's skin sizzle and burn on contact. The demon screeched in pain as she stumbled into the next room.

Fenris was waiting for her, his bruised and bleeding face pulled down in a furious scowl. Validation tried to lash out at him with her taloned fingers, but the elven warrior's lyrium tattoos flared white and her claws passed right through him. She staggered forward as Fenris materialized again behind her, drawing back a hand that pulsed with white light. Letting out a rage-filled roar, he drove his glowing fist forward until it pierced Validation's back. The demon stiffened and let out a weak, choked gurgle and Hawke saw Fenris' outstretched arm burst from her chest in a fountain of black blood and gore. Fenris twisted his arm painfully before he ripped it back, letting Validation collapse in an unmoving heap to the ground in front of them.

The white-haired elf stared down at the corpse at his feet with a sneer, shaking rivulets of black blood from his armored gauntlet. Validation shuddered, then went still. Fenris' eyes narrowed, and he kicked the body once, to no effect. Satisfied the deed was done, he turned back to the others with a smug grin on his face.

"Well," he said, the light from his lyrium tattoos fading back to their dull grey color. "It appears I was correct; demons can die just like all the rest of us."

Isabela let out a raucous laugh, sheathing her daggers before clapping the elf on the shoulder. Fenris winced at the pain that no doubt raced along from his lyrium-ravaged flesh and fixed the dark-skinned woman with a glare as she laughed, "Good job, Fenris! I knew that magical fisting trick of yours would come in handy some day!"

Aveline nodded, sheathing her sword. "For once, the whore and I agree. That was well struck, Fenris. I'm not sure—"

Leliana interrupted her. "Hawke? What's wrong?"

Hawke had stepped closer to Validation's corpse, her mind drifting back to her time in the Fade. Justice had suffered a similar wound at the hands of the fear demon, the one Merrill had referred to as _Dread_. What was it Justice had said after?

"_The Fade is not like your world, mortal,"_ Justice he had said as they trekked through Validation's tower. "_Physical wounds affect us differently… it would take much more to kill me."_

Justice seemed to have the same thought, because as Isabela happily sauntered closer to the corpse, no doubt eager to pry away some of the valuable crystals growing from the demon's body, he stretched out an arm and cried, "No! Stay away! It's not what it seems!"

Isabela rolled her eyes and reached down to grab one of the crystal fragments. Her fingertips had only brushed the surface when a massive shockwave burst from the corpse, knocking all who were present onto their backs. A great cloud of shadow roared up from Validation's body and smothered them all, throwing Hawke into a pitch darkness she knew all too well.

She scrambled to her feet and grabbed her staff, slamming it hard against the floor and causing bright amber light to pulse from the crystal tip. The orange-red illumination cut through the dark fog, revealing the others clambering to their feet as well. The shadows swirled around them like a pitch-black fog, making all the others seem hazy and out of focus.

"Is everyone all right?" she called. "Whatever you do, don't touch her again—"

She had barely finished before a searing pain ripped through her forehead and she doubled over, clutching at her temples. Her staff clattered to the ground and she fell to her knees, letting out a strangled groan of pain. Through streaming, unfocused eyes, she could see the others were similarly affected, collapsing to the ground and holding their heads. Justice seemed to have the worst of it, curled into a ball as he shouted in agony and the blue lighting under his skin sparked and popped.

Then Marian was forced to squeeze her eyes shut as images began racing through her head. She saw the forests back in Ferelden where she used to play as a child. She saw templars chasing her with swords drawn. She saw their blades descend as her templar pursuers carved the scar against her face that marked her features to this day. She saw the blood staining the spotless tablecloth of her family's cabin as her father rested her on the table and bathed her face in blue-white healing magic, his face tight and drawn.

It was a scene that haunted her nightmares still; the terror of being chased through the forest, the unparalleled agony of feeling her face almost carved in two, the recurring shame of living with the disfigurement, of constantly being asked how her face had been scarred, of hearing her mother say in hushed whispers how much more beautiful her daughter would have been if the mark didn't ruin the entire right half of her face.

It was undoubtedly her worst memory. And Validation knew it.

There was a dark chuckle that pounded against the sensitive walls of her mind, making her screw up her face in rage and pain. Validation's presence slithered into her mind and her voice quietly hissed out a greeting.

"_Hello again, Hawke."_

* * *

Varric slung Merrill's arm around his shoulders, helping her limp down the streets of Darktown and avoiding the questioning gazes of the resident shmucks who called the slums their home. Merrill's knees were shaking and she staggered every few steps, but it didn't seem to stop her from being resistant to his foolproof escape plan.

"We… we have to go back!" Merrill murmured, pulling against him in a futile attempt to move back to the clinic. "We can't just leave Hawke and the others to fight Validation all on their own!"

Varric grunted as he pulled the elf along. "They've got it handled, Daisy. They don't need us to-"

"You don't understand," Merrill interrupted. Her pale face was beaded with cold sweat and her eyes were bleary, but there was a determination in her gaze that Varric knew all too well. Hawke got the look from time to time: a stubborn, angry, prideful resolve that all too often got Marian and her friends into trouble, then subsequently carried them through it.

Merrill took a deep breath. "Validation is more powerful than you know. Marian got a taste of it, but even she doesn't truly know. That demon is sinister in ways we haven't seen before. She… she reaches into your _mind_, Varric. She sees everything you are, latches onto the deepest, darkest secrets you keep. And then she turns that against you. Do you understand?"

"I don't—"

"Do you think Aveline has the strength to stand up to a lifetime of seeing her husband die? Again and again and again, with Validation whispering in her ear and telling her it was all her fault? Do you think Isabela can be forced to relive her ship sinking time and time again while Validation promises her that with _her_ help it can all be different?"

She glared at the dwarf, her tiny face pulled down in a tiny scowl. "What if she came to you and said that she could make it so that no one ever betrayed you like Bartrand betrayed you? What if she was whispering in your mind that, with her help, you could make sure everyone treated you with loyalty and dedication, just like your brother was supposed to?"

Merrill pulled away from Varric's grasp, staggered a little, and successfully regained her balance. "I love our friends, Varric, but they _aren't_ _ready_ for this. Victory and Justice and I all fought her and her minions. We _know_. And if you let me help, I can make it so that Validation doesn't hurt any of them."

Varric stared at her, trying to form a defense, some kind of cleverly-worded counterattack that would change her mind and make her see reason. Validation was too powerful, too insidious, too intelligent… but all those arguments only served to support her argument. Eventually he just sighed and rubbed at his tired eyes.

"Well… shit."

* * *

_Author's Note:_ _Is it just me, or does Merrill seem to be kissing a lot of people lately? Guess it happens a lot when you're as adorable as she is. ;)_

_So this is it… next chapter is the conclusion of the big bad fight scene. Hopefully it's as epic as I keep building it up to be. Now if I can just get the motivation to dive into a climactic battle scene…_


	26. I Am Validation

Isabela had served many dark nights before the mast; nights so pitch black that she could barely see her own hand in front of her face. Nights when she'd been forced to stumble around like a blind woman searching for a handhold so she didn't pitch over the port railing and into the Waking Sea. But never before had she been plunged into this kind of darkness. It was almost a corporeal thing, swirling around her like a hurricane of shadow, midnight-black smoke tugging around her ankles and over her shoulders in little eddies before swirling off into the unknown. She felt a sudden, overwhelming wash of vertigo, as if she could no longer tell which direction was up or down. She wobbled a bit, only regaining her balance when her eyes adjusted and she kept her gaze fixed on the dirt at her feet. She could see that at least.

She could hear voices whispering to her from within the maelstrom, but couldn't make out the words until she devoted all her attention to them. As soon as she did, the voices sharpened until she could hear them clearly: hundreds of voices all swirling around her and clamoring for her attention, crying out to her from the fog.

Something hit her shoulder, spinning her around as it whizzed past on a draft of cold air.

"_Isabela_," the voices whispered. "_This way!"_

_"__Follow us!"_

_"__We need you, 'Bela!"_

The Rivaini narrowed her eyes. She knew better than to trust disembodied voices speaking to her from within such unnatural surroundings. She may not have much experience with demons and the Fade, but she was no idiot. So she raised her daggers and pivoted, searching for any sign of the others.

"_This way, Isabela!"_

_"__Come on!"_

_"__Help us!"_

She shook her head, her carefully measured steps carrying her in a slow circle that never showed her back to the same place for long. She traced her blades through the air in a lazy figure-8 pattern, anticipating the battle she knew was fast approaching.

Another voice cut through the crowd, louder than all the others.

"_What are you doing, Isabela?"_

She scowled. This was obviously not a figment of her imagination. "If that's Validation talking," she said, "then I'm going to kill you."

"_Oh Isabela…"_ this voice was louder and more insistent. "_Why would you do that? I'm not going to hurt you."_

She let out a short bark of laughter. "I've heard better bullshit from Darktown merchants, demon. Try again, but lie better this time."

"_I am not lying to you. I am not the enemy here. You know who is."_

"No, no," Isabela insisted. "See, this is how you do it: say _Isabela, I'm an evil soul-sucking demon who's so full of myself I can't even comprehend how badly you're going to fuck me over._ Then I'll believe you."

The shadows suddenly parted to reveal Leliana a few paces away, holding her hands in front of her face as she attempted to regain her bearings. If she saw Isabela, she made no sign of it. The redhead was alone in the fog, turning back and forth to try and find some sign of her place in Anders' darkened clinic. Her daggers were drawn and clenched tightly in her hands.

"_Look upon the true face of treachery_," Validation whispered in Isabela's ear.

The pirate queen slowly stepped toward the bard, ears pricked for the demon's voice. This was definitely not what she had been expecting. The demon's voice almost seemed to carry a note of truth in it. "So…" she said slowly, "Lady Nightingale is still trying to kill us all?"

"_Of course. You always knew her halfhearted pledge of loyalty was a sham."_

Damn. She had to give the demon that one. "All right. So what's her plan?"

"_What better time to strike than when Hawke and her compatriots are defenseless? She herself said that no one suspects a blade to appear from one's side. She plans to eliminate you all, one by one if need be, while your attention is focused elsewhere."_

"Sneaky little bitch."

"_She will kill you all if you do not act first. Hawke, Merrill, Anders, and even Varric. She will leave no one alive as a witness. You know this."_

"She doesn't look ready to take us all on," Isabela observed. The bard was still squinting to see through the phantom mist, waving a hand in front of her eyes to ward away the shadows. It was actually quite comical, watching the sinister Nightingale flail around like an ocean seal out of the water.

"_Why wait until _she_ is ready? Strike now when she is unprepared. When _you_ have the advantage and Hawke is not here to stand in your way."_

She narrowed her eyes, glancing up into the swirling mist that surrounded her. "How do I know I can trust you?"

"_You don't have to trust me. But can you safely ignore the warning I give? Can you pass up this opportunity and live to face the consequences of inaction?"_

"You make a good point."

She clenched her teeth, then raised her daggers and advanced on the unsuspecting bard. If what the demon said was true, she wouldn't give their dear Sister Nightingale time to strike. She would end this here and now, then turn her full attention on Validation.

Without having to watch over her shoulder all the time, she would be able to pour all her focus into killing the demon that plagued them. And with Leliana out of the way, Validation wouldn't know what hit her.

* * *

Within the span of a moment, everything was black and covered in a thick shroud of smoke. Leliana covered her eyes, grimacing against the hot blast of smog. She squinted through the darkness and saw Validation once again rise to her feet, floating ethereally into a standing position with her long, skeletal arms spread wide. How she managed to survive Fenris' explosive attack, she had no idea. But she had heard tales of the more elder demons being remarkably resilient, and Validation was obviously very old.

The others were still shaking off the effects of the dark explosion, but the demon paid them no mind. Those fiery red eyes fixed on Leliana, and dark lips stretched back over blackened teeth in a baleful smile.

"_Hello, Sister Leliana._"

The voice rumbled through Leliana's mind, making her double over and hold her hands to her temples. Pain ripped through her head as the demon strode toward her and traced a long, skeletal finger down her shoulder.

"_I have waited a long time to meet you. Lyna thought so very highly of you."_

Her blood turned to ice water in her veins. Her body froze in place, hands clenched tight around the hilts of her Orlesian-crafted daggers. "How…" she licked her suddenly dry lips. "How do you know that name?"

"_I am no stranger to the heroes of your world, Leliana. Their actions ring across realities, drawing the attentions of beings such as me. I watched your Grey Warden as she was ripped away from her home in the forests. I stood beside her as she took the field in Denerim."_

Validation leaned close, her fetid breath washing over Leliana's ear. "_I held her as she died."_

Leliana snapped, pivoting with a powerful slash that whistled through empty air. She grasped her weapons tight as she snarled, "You lie."

Validation floated around to her shoulder once more, borne through the air on a cloud of roiling midnight-black smoke. Her face was twisted into a lurid smile as she said, "_I may be a demon, but I don't lie often. Even when I possessed little Merrill, I kept my word. I saved her friends from Greed."_

"And then tried to kill them!"

"_I only sought to contain them until I was safely away. I saw Merrill's thoughts of them; if they were truly as capable as Merrill believed, they would survive and rise to challenge me."_

The demon rubbed at her chest, at the hole that still remained from Fenris' furious attack. She scowled and muttered, _"They are stubborn that way. They remind me of your band, actually. Of Morrigan and Sten and Lyna-"_

Leliana scowled and rounded on the demon. "Do not speak her name again, or I will—"

"_What will you do, Sister?"_ Validation interrupted. Her voice came out a dark snarl and she raced forward until she was almost nose-to-nose with the redheaded bard. "_Will you strike me down? Will you banish me forever back to the Fade? You couldn't even defeat a glorified wyrm with the support of an army at your side and the leadership of a hero far stronger than you will ever be."_

"The archdemon—"

"_Was a _test_. A test of your faith and devotion to the Maker, sweet Sister Nightingale. An Old God sent to dominate the world and snuff out the Maker's light. You were chosen to stand against it by the Maker himself. It was a test of your strength. And you were found wanting."_

Leliana shook her head. "No. You're lying. No, it was never my destiny to kill the beast. That was Lyna's duty."

"_And so you just let her die? You let her soul be rent apart to stop the archdemon?"_

"I-"

Validation slithered closer. Leliana could smell death and decay on her breath, and the scent made her stomach lurch. The demon's skin was blackened and cracked like old leather thrust into a fire. But those eyes… they were roiling pools of magma, as bright and as burning as the archdemon's fire on that tower back in Denerim.

Validation's voice was harsh and low, the predatory purr of a nightmare made flesh. "_She will not be waiting for you, you know. Her soul is gone, torn to pieces by the darkness of the Blight. When you follow her, there will be no glorious reunion in death. Only silence and dust."_

"Y-you lie!"

Validation turned and pointed with a spindly figure at a figure that had appeared through the shadows. It was Anders, standing with his staff raised high, towering over a figure huddled into a tight ball on the ground in front of him. His staff was glowing bright blue in a futile attempt to shed light through the void.

Validation pointed to the figure huddled at his feet. "_Do you know who that is?"_

Leliana hesitated. "Hawke claims it is a spirit of the Fade brought into our world."

Validation tipped her ravaged face back and laughed. "_According to _Hawke_. I can reveal the truth. Look closer, Nightingale. Take note of her armor. The braids in her hair, the tone of her skin. Look at the daggers on her back. Look at all of this and then, if you can, tell me you do not recognize her."_

The demon spoke the truth; as soon as Leliana focused on the figure she began to recognize the familiar planes of her armor, the chiseled hilts of her daggers, and the calloused soles of her bare feet. She noticed they chafing rash around her ankles, where the heavy leather armor rubbed against the skin of legs that were used to being bared to the fresh air. She saw the thin, snaking scar that arched over the back of her neck, a souvenir from an overzealous darkspawn that had almost cut that raven-black head from those thin and shivering shoulders.

Her blood ran cold, her daggers hanging limp in her fingers. Her voice was choked and tight.

"Lyna…"

"_Your eyes deceive you_," the demon hissed. "_That thing is not Lyna, but a demon that has stolen her appearance. And the abomination you know as Anders is bringing her into this world_."

"What?" Leliana's eyes widened. "Why would he _do _that?"

Validation hissed through her teeth. "_He has been corrupted by his own arrogance and pride. He will do anything to defeat me, even if it means killing all the rest of you._"

Leliana felt steel settle over her heart. "Is he resorting to blood magic?"

Validation chuckled. "_How do you think he became an abomination in the first place?_"

* * *

"_Now is your chance!_" the voice whispered in Fenris' head. "_Strike down the abomination while his defenses are focused elsewhere!_"

"Hawke trusts him," Fenris growled, glaring at Anders through the thick fog. "I will not defy her."

"_She doesn't know mages like you do. She is too blinded by her own history with magic to see the truth. That man will be your downfall. I have foreseen it._"

Fenris quirked up an eyebrow. "You have?"

"_Oh yes. That man will cause the fires of death and destruction to consume Kirkwall, the Free Marches… and Hawke_."

The demon floated behind him, squeezing his shoulders with her long-fingered hands. "_Do what you've been waiting to do, little wolf. It is time_."

* * *

"_You should have known this motley collection of misfits would fall apart at the seams._"

Aveline snorted, crouched low behind her shield. "For a demon, you're surprisingly astute."

"_Things are going to go to hell now. Everyone is going to attack everyone else, and people will be killed_. _All that will remain is death and destruction, just like your days fleeing Lothering. Just like Wesley. They will murder each other, and you along with them._"

"And how do you know that?"

Validation grinned, showing a maw full of blackened, crooked, and razor sharp teeth. "_Because_," she purred, "_I'm going to make them._"

* * *

Hawke poured more magic through her staff, shedding amber light over the entire room and cutting through the fog. She could just make out the others staggering through the smoke, struggling to see. The nearest, Aveline, was crouched low behind her shield. Isabela was just behind her, a steely glint in her eyes as she drew her daggers close to her chest.

Suddenly, a crackle from Hawke's left drew her attention. There was a dark sucking sound and in an instant all the shadowy fog vanished. Validation erupted into a cloud of ash that fluttered away into the air, leaving nothing behind but a scorched circle on the ground.

They all stood in a rough semi-circle in the demon's wake with weapons raised and identical looks of surprise on their face. Then, a dark collection of voices – like five different versions of Validation all shouting at once – ripped through the silence and shouted, "_Now_!"

Things happened very fast after that.

Isabela moved first, charging forward with a roar and tackling Leliana around the waist, driving them both to the ground. The bard let out an indignant cry, then screamed as 'Bela stabbed one blade down into her shoulder. The redhead arched her back and clutched at her shoulder as blood began to well from the wound.

"Thought you could fool me?" Isabela snarled, eyes blazing. "You seriously thought you could trick me a second time?"

Fenris was next, leaping forward and heading straight for Justice with his greatsword held high. The spirit saw the approaching attack and moved to defend himself, raising his staff horizontally in front of him. Fenris' lyrium-etched weapon fell and carved the staff in half, rending it apart in a shower of wooden splinters. The blade bit into Justice's chest, carving a shallow swath of bloody red across the beige leather of his robes. A kick to the chest sent the spirit sprawling to the ground, eyes wide and full of shock.

Aveline sprinted forward before Fenris could deliver the killing blow, knocking the elven warrior aside with a powerful bash from her shield. Fenris was slammed into the dirt floor, arms flailing, but he quickly scrambled back to his feet. He spun to Aveline, holding his greatsword out in front of him. His eyes were blazing as he flexed his tattooed fingers around the hilt of his sword.

"You dare stand against me, Aveline?" he demanded. "I am only doing what needs to be done."

"As am I," Aveline shot back. She crouched low behind her shield and raised her sword as Fenris charged her again.

Hawke, meanwhile, made straight for Isabela. She grabbed the pirate queen by the shoulders and ripped her away from Leliana, allowing the redhead to stagger to her feet while holding her wounded shoulder. She grimaced as she reached up and grasped the hilt of Isabela's dagger, then ripped it free with a gasp of pain.

"Leliana, are you-" Hawke was about to turn to her, but found the bard was already leaving. She advanced on Justice as the spirit was picking himself up after Fenris' attack. Hawke could see Isabela's bloodied dagger clutched tight in one hand.

Before she could demand what the woman was doing, Isabela's boot caught the side of Hawke's head, sending her sprawling. In a swift flash of movement, Isabela rolled to her feet and dropped into a practiced duelist's stance. She drew her one remaining dagger and pointed the blade at Hawke with her amber eyes narrowed to slits.

"Stay out of this, Marian. It's for your own good."

Hawke shook her head from her position sprawled on the ground, her temples throbbing from the attack. She let Isabela take two steps away before she raised her staff and pushed up a chest-high wall of rock and dirt into the air in front of the pirate queen, effectively separating her from Leliana.

"I'm not going to let you hurt her, Isabela," Hawke said, clambering back to her feet.

'Bela turned and narrowed her eyes. "That is a very big mistake, sweet thing."

Hawke shook her head. "I don't know what's gotten into you all, but you're doing _exactly_ what Validation wants! You don't think she gains anything from splitting us all up like this?"

Isabela stepped back toward Hawke, reaching down and pulling another long dagger from within one of her thigh-high boots. She crossed them both in an X across her chest. "I don't give a shit what the demon wants," the pirate queen said. "That Orlesian bitch is going to betray you, and I won't just stand by and let that happen."

"Isabela-"

Hawke barely had time to react before the pirate queen leapt forward and slashed with both blades. Only a well-timed block from her staff stopped the blow, but 'Bela was already spinning and slashing at her other side. Hawke pivoted, bringing the bladed end of her scepter to bear. The dueling daggers ricocheted, sending Isabela off balance. Hawke thrust her staff forward and unleashed a telekinetic blast that sent the Rivaini hopping away.

"I told you," she said as she advanced, "Leliana is on our side."

"Well you're wrong!" Isabela whirled, a blur of motion against the sandstone walls of the clinic. Hawke spotted a glint of steel before she raised a protective barrier and the throwing knife bounced harmlessly away into the dirt. By the time she recovered, however, Isabela had somersaulted behind her and wrapped a muscular arm around her throat.

"I'm not trying to hurt you, Marian," she hissed in Hawke's ear. "But you need to pull your head out of your ass and realize that the Orlesian is trying to betray you. _Look_!"

She shoved Hawke around until they could both see Leliana grab Justice by the throat and haul him to his feet, her dagger pressed into his gut. Justice, disarmed and wounded by Fenris' earlier attack, sent a weak course of lightning down his hands and up Leliana's arms. Leliana easily resisted the attack, grimacing through the pain and raising her blade to strike.

"Believe me now?" Isabela snarled.

Hawke nodded.

The duelist finally released her and hissed, "Then let's _do_ something about it!"

"Who is she?" Leliana demanded. She pressed the blade tight against Justice's lightning-ravaged throat. "The demon you were summoning. _Who is she_?"

Justice sputtered, struggling against her iron grip. "She…" he gasped. "She is no demon."

"You lie!"

"She is a spirit of victory, who has come to aid us in killing the demon."

"You _lie_! I know that face. I know that armor. What manner of demon is she that she can take the form of the Hero of Ferelden?"

Justice was about to answer when two pairs of strong hands grabbed her by the shoulders and threw her away. Justice collapsed to the ground, holding his bloody chest and coughing. Leliana staggered back to find Isabela and Hawke, both armed, staring at her with furious expressions.

Leliana glared back at them and raised her weapons. "Do not stand in my way, you two. I have questions for the abomination and I would see them answered."

"Do you usually question people by throttling them?" Hawke said, eyes narrowed to steel-hued slits. "Or do you just make an exception when you're dealing with my friends?"

"I have no time for your levity, Marian," Leliana said, a note of desperation entering her voice. She needed to know if Validation had been speaking the truth. Was the limp figure at Justice's feet indeed another demon or was it something… else?

But her opponents would allow her no time for reflection. Isabela sprinted forward, taking advantage of her distraction. The ensuing attack tore through her sleeve and bit deep into the flesh of her shoulder, making her cry out and falter. Hawke attacked next, firing off three successive bolts of magic that hit Leliana in the chest, stomach, and shoulder. The magical projectiles instantly sent fire washing through her body and she staggering off balance as she clutched at her chest. Knowing that the slightest misstep would mean death, she straightened and attacked, almost striking out blindly. She caught Isabela approaching from the rear and lashed out with a boot to the woman's ankle that sent her sprawling.

Before Hawke could use her magic again, she sprinted forward and barreled into the mage, her arms around Marian's waist. She straightened fast, driving her skull into Hawke's chin, and felt the mage's teeth clap together painfully. She followed up with three devastatingly quick punches to the gut before falling back and hitting her with a high kick to the chest that sent her flying onto her back.

Isabela had recovered by now, but Leliana was waiting for her. She raised her Orlesian daggers over her shoulders to parry the inevitable slash to her spine, then ducked under Isabela's outstretched arm and drove the hilt of her dagger into the woman's unprotected ribs. Isabela grunted and swung her knee up, catching Leliana in the stomach and driving her wind from her lungs. She doubled over, holding her belly as Isabela followed up with a hard kick to Leliana's face. Leliana sprawled back, driven off her feet by the force of the blow and feeling blood pour from her nose. She rolled away to avoid the descending killing blow from Isabela and her daggers, then somersaulted to her feet.

Isabela was right on top of her, slashing and stabbing with her daggers in such a blindingly fast series of attacks that Leliana could barely keep up. Orlesian bards were masters of secrecy and subterfuge. They were not untalented in the art of killing, but she was no duelist and Isabela's vastly superior martial skills tested the absolute limits of her abilities.

The pirate queen spun and pirouetted, pivoting on one foot only to dart in and stab, then slip back away again. Her boots beat a furious pace against the dusty ground, her footwork near-perfect as she pushed her prey closer to the wall where her mobility would be limited. Her combat was as graceful as a dance but as lethal as any other duel, and carried all the strength, grace, and ruthless efficiency of a veteran duelist. All of Leliana's considerable skill and speed was thrown into simply defending against the blur of motion.

Matters were not made easier when Hawke suddenly reappeared behind her and wrapped her arms around Leliana's chest, pinning her hands to her sides. Leliana forced them both back, out of reach of Isabela's daggers, and drove Hawke back against one of the sandstone pillars supporting the clinic's roof. With her attacker pinned, Leliana drove her head back into Hawke's face once, twice, and three times. She heard Hawke grunt in pain each time, but the third strike resulted in a thick _crack_ and the arms trapping her loosened just enough. Leliana ripped herself free and threw herself into a spinning kick that caught Hawke in the solar plexus, making the mage double up with wide eyes before slumping to the ground, gasping for breath.

Isabela leaped forward with a roar, driving both daggers down at Leliana's unprotected back. The bard threw herself clear just in time, forcing herself into a tight roll that brought her to her feet in a low crouch. She drew her daggers close to her chest, points aimed out at Isabela's vengeful form as the pirate queen towered over her.

"You seriously thought you could try and betray us a second time?" the pirate demanded. Leliana drew back as the white-clad woman approached. "We told you what would happen if you did."

"Things are not as they appear," Leliana hissed through clenched teeth, glaring up at her opponent. Her bright red hair was messy and disheveled and it fell into her eyes as she waited for her opening. She paid it no mind. "That being that left the Fade with Validation is a demon. One that I would see destroyed."

"You numbskull! That's the spirit that's been _helping_ Merrill and Justice this whole time!"

"According to Justice."

Leliana moved before Isabela could anticipate her attack. She somersaulted forward onto her feet and hurled one of her daggers as hard as she could. Isabela saw the blow and ducked away, throwing herself to the side in a graceful flip that left her a little unsteady, but on her feet.

Hawke, rising from Leliana's earlier attack, was not so lucky. The blade sliced through the air, heading straight for her chest.

* * *

Justice pulled himself over to Victory, who was still curled into a tight ball nearby. The journey to this realm had hurt her, badly. She was not likely to survive another five minutes. Her purple-hued eyes opened at the sounds of his approach and she weakly reached out a hand for him. He reached out his own and clasped it tightly.

"Victory…" he whispered, looking out at the others. Fenris and Aveline were fighting furiously, trading violent and powerful blows that left both panting and shaking with exhaustion and pain. Isabela had teamed up with Hawke and were relentlessly attacking Leliana, who was somehow managing to keep both at bay. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, so slow Justice could count the droplets of blood in the air as Isabela's dagger bit deep into Leliana's shoulder.

He shook his head, closing his eyes. He could feel blood seeping into his leather robes, could feel life ebbing away. It was an odd sensation, death. He was just glad he managed to spare most of the feeling from Anders, whose presence was buried so deep down in his own subconscious he was not even aware of what was happening around him. "I'm sorry, Victory. They weren't powerful enough to resist. _I _wasn't powerful enough. Validation is going to win."

As if hearing his words, Validation materialized before them, floating in the air in the center of the clinic. She turned slowly, red eyes wide as a huge, satisfied smile stretched across her face. Her emaciated arms stretched wide as she spun, tilting her head back to revel in the emotions that roiled about her. The fear and pain, the hate and betrayal and fury all sustained her and fed her power. Sickly greenish light swirled around her arms as her enemies battled to the death around her. Shadows billowed out from beneath her feet, crawling across the floor and turning everything they touched a dead, off-color brown. She was sapping the life from everything around her, growing stronger by the second.

"Can you not feel it?" she hissed. She laughed and clenched her hands into fists. "All of the fear, all of the hatred… it is all so _delicious_…"

Victory gasped, her voice small and wrought with pain. She was fading already. The purple-white flame that swirled behind her eyes and beneath her skin was beginning to dim, and her skin had gone a pallid gray. Her lips quivered as she fought to form words. "J-Justice… we can't let her…"

"Shh…" He drew her close, stroking her hair. He could not stop her passing, but he could comfort her in her final moments. She clutched at him with fingers that swiftly began to lose their grip. "It is over, Victory. I'm sorry."

"No… no, it can't…"

"Look upon me," Validation hissed at them, turning her fiery red eyes on the two. "It was always going to end this way. It was folly to ever think otherwise."

She floated forward, borne through the air on a carpet of darkness laid out in front of her. Tendrils of midnight black slithered through the dirt and snaked up Justice's boots. He instantly felt all sensation in his feet flee, the rich leather shoes drying up and cracking before his eyes.

Validation reached out a single emaciated hand. "I am not without mercy, my friends. Join with me and I will spare you. I will return us all to our proper place within the Fade. Can you not see our potential? Together, we can rule not as spirits, but as _gods_!"

Justice shook his head, grimacing as the shadows crawled further up his body. They were snaking up and over Victory now. The spirit shivered at the clutch of the shadows, drawing tighter against Justice as Validation loomed over them both.

"Why would I help you?" Justice spat, summoning up the last of his strength in an ultimately futile act of defiance. "You were always the weakest among us, Validation. You have grown powerful now, yes. But that will never keep you from what you are: a leech on the strength of your superiors. The outcast of spirits and demons alike, too selfish to be the former but too weak to be the latter."

"Then you are a fool. I am stronger than even you could possibly imagine."

His lips curled up in a sneer. "Even now, in the midst of all your power, you are only running from what you were. From what you have always held inside. _Fear_. Fear that one day you will once again be seen as when we were young. Fear that you will return to being the outcast, the humble spirit overlooked by your peers because you were too weak and afraid to stand up for yourself."

He sneered at the monstrosity before him. "Fear that you truly _are_ as weak as we all knew you were."

"_Silence!"_ Validation roared. She lashed out with a powerful backhand slap that snapped Justice's face off to one side. She stared down at him, eyes blazing, but then she let out a low sigh, visibly calming herself.

"I gave you a vision," the demon murmured, eyes fixed on Justice. "A vision of war and ruin and death. There is still time to reverse such a future. I do not wish to see this world overrun by war. We are alike in that regard."

"I… I share no kindred desires with you." Justice gasped. The shadows had reached his chest now.

Validation leaned low over him, regarding him coolly with those flaming red eyes. "Is this what you want, Justice? To die? And with Victory and Anders along with you? Surely there is no justice in allowing a villain like me to succeed?"

She gestured out to the others still fighting in slow-motion behind her. "Is watching these friends kill each other truly the righteousness and equality you seek?"

She regarded him coldly. "You _will_ die here, and Victory alongside you. I am offering you an escape."

She reached out again. "Simply take my hand, and all can be made right once more. I will help you find the justice you so desperately need. Victory can be spared. I will even leave the elven girl to her own devices. Simply return with me to the Fade, and I will bring us all to heights we cannot even comprehend."

"I… I will become a demon."

"But of course. There is no alternative. You will find that demonic power gives you the strength to do what is necessary to achieve your goals. You will be better in every sense of the word. All you have to do…"

Her open palm beckoned as her voice purred, "…is take my hand."

Justice stared at the skeletal, taloned hand before him, then turned his gaze upward to meet those twin pools of fire. His jaw tightened and he did, as Validation suggested, what was necessary.

* * *

Hawke saw the blade racing for her chest too late to stop it. In the strange slow-motion time that always precedes a tragedy, she had time to think, _I wonder if this will hurt as badly as when Merrill stabbed me._

Then she squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the inevitable feeling of cold steel piercing her vest, slipping in between ribs and lodging deep in her heart. She waited for the warm, sticky sensation of blood soaking into her leather overcoat. She waited for the cold that would descend as all feeling slowly leeched away from her limbs.

It never came.

There was a loud _clang_ of metal, followed by the low warble of magical discharge and her eyes flew open in time to see the dagger ricochet off a rippling magical barrier projected in the air in front of her. The knife clattered to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust as it slid to a halt.

Hawke whipped around to find Merrill standing in the doorway, arm outstretched with a shocked look in her large green eyes. There were dark circles under her eyelids and she was leaning heavily on Varric, but she somehow looked like the only one in the room who possessed real strength. There was a power that radiated from her, making the air between them hum.

Her arm fell to her side and the magical barrier in front of Hawke disappeared.

"What…" Merrill shook her head, eyes wide and blooming with hurt. "What are you all _doing?_ Are you trying to kill each other?"

All motion in the room instantly froze, all eyes drawn to Merrill.

Isabela was standing closest to the door, holding Leliana by the throat while the bard's dagger was pressed tight against her abdomen. The two glanced awkwardly at each other, guilt in both their eyes. Then pirate queen gestured to the red-haired bard and spat, "She tried to kill Anders while our backs were turned! She—"

Leliana interrupted her. "I did no such thing! I was merely questioning him about—"

Aveline pointed at Fenris, who was lying face-down in the dirt at her feet, his arm twisted painfully behind his back by the guard captain's iron grip. "_This_ idiot was the one that tried to kill Anders. As soon as that fog came down—"

"Technically," Hawke said, glaring at Isabela, "you tried to kill Leliana _and_ me."

"_Enough!_" Merrill shouted, stamping one foot. Everyone instantly fell silent. Even Validation, floating in the air on a billowing cloud of jet-black smoke, was solely focused on the little Dalish elf. She cocked her head, eyes wide as she followed Merrill's progression into the room.

Merrill limped away from Varric, stepping further into the clinic and looking at them all with a fury burning in her eyes that Hawke had never seen. She met each of their gazes one by one, then barked, "Put your weapons _down!"_

Everyone complied, dropping their weapons where they stood. Metal clanged to the dirt and they all raised their hands to show they were disarmed. Merrill glared at them for a moment more before her shoulders slumped and she whispered, "You should all be _ashamed_ of yourselves. You would really rather kill each other than work together?"

"But—" Isabela began to speak, but Merrill ignored her.

"I thought we were all _friends_," she said, her voice beginning to crack. "I thought we were all _family_. I thought you would work _together_ to stop this demon. But families don't turn on each other like this! How could you all be so greedy and paranoid, that you would rather kill your _friends_ than put aside your petty squabbles?"

"Merrill—" Hawke took a step toward her, but Merrill's fury cut her off.

"_Shut up_!" the little elf shouted. Her hands clenched into fists. "You… I thought you were _better_ than this, Hawke! I t-thought you were _stronger_…"

Tears began to fall, and Validation saw her opportunity. She floated toward Merrill and folded her in a soft embrace that left shadows crawling along Merrill's arms and shoulders. The demon held the elf close, whispering, "Ssh… there, there… I tried to show you they were false. I tried to tell you they would only end up disappointing you. In the end, the only strong one here is you."

"I…" Merrill's voice hitched. "You… may be right."

Hawke's eyes stretched wider as Validation's deep chuckle rumbled through the room.

* * *

Leliana could not keep her feet from carrying her over to Justice and the small bundle of quivering armor tucked against his chest. While the others were focused on Validation, she had discreetly slipped out of Isabela's grasp and moved toward the back of the room, where Justice was propped limply against the wall. His chest was stained deep crimson with blood, but the wound did not look fatal. The shaking elven woman curled against him, however, was a different matter entirely.

She had to know. She could not go on not knowing if the demon's words were true.

Her limbs felt as stiff as logs as she sank to her knees next to Justice. Her blue eyes were stretched wide as she saw that familiar silver-blue armor once more, saw the short-cropped black hair pulled back behind regal, pointed ears.

But she needed to know beyond any doubt. Her breath was little more than a whisper, quivering with equal parts fear and anticipation.

"L-Lyna?"

The shuddering instantly ceased, and wide eyes – deep violet, crackling with tiny arcs of lightning, nothing like the deepest blue they once had been – peeked over Justice's shoulder. When the tiny figure spoke, her voice was quiet and pained, but so familiar it sent a fresh spike of grief along the well-worn paths of Leliana's heart.

"L-Leli?"

Tears seemed to well up from out of nowhere, and Leliana reached forward to trace the soft curve of Lyna's cheek. It was different, with sharp purple forks of electricity racing just beneath the tanned skin and the dark patterns of the Dalish _vallaslin_. But the touch, the shape, the texture was so familiar it made her want to weep.

"How is this possible?" she breathed.

Justice sighed, too weak to move anything more than his head. "This is Victory, a spirit from my realm. She has… somehow gained many of the Warden's memories. I do not fully understand how."

"Is… is it really you?" she ignored Justice and spoke directly to the source of all her heartbreak over the past year. "Do you… do you remember me?"

The little elf stared at her. "P-pieces…" she said. "Only pieces. I am not… I am not Lyna Mahariel. But I am close. S-so very close…"

The lightning beneath Lyna's skin flared, purple-white sparks dancing into the air. She cried out in pain, her muscles quivering, and curled closer to Justice's chest. Her fellow spirit held her close, whispering something into her hair as she squeezed her eyes shut, tears pouring down her face.

When Justice spoke again, his voice was hollow and sad. "The transference to this realm caused irreparable damage. She is dying."

"What?" Leliana's heart raced with a sharp, ice-cold spike of fear. "No. No, no. That' can't be true. I won't let it happen!"

"You won't." A sudden steel had come into Lyna's voice now. Her expression hardened, though her muscles still quivered as if she had just been hit by a powerful electrical spell. "I am not your Warden, bard. But… I would ask a favor of you nonetheless."

She couldn't stop herself. "Anything. Everything."

Lyna let out a short huff. "Help me stand. And give me your dagger."

* * *

Hawke stepped forward, reaching out an arm towards Merrill. Validation was still draped around her like a cheap whore at the Blooming Rose, holding her so tightly she doubted the elf could escape if she wanted to.

"Merrill," Hawke said, her voice slow and cautious. She knew just what Merrill was capable of in such a raw state. She swallowed and forged ahead before she could stop herself. "I'm… I'm sorry. You're right. We've disappointed you, and we should be ashamed of ourselves. The whole reason we did this was to help you."

"Do not speak," Validation hissed. "Can you not see Merrill is heartbroken by your selfishness and treachery?"

Hawke ignored the demon. "You're right to be angry, Merrill. To feel betrayed. Somewhere along the way, we lost sight of just why we were doing all of this. We gave in to our own selfish desires, our hatred…"

She grimaced at the memory of her time in Validation's nightmare. "Our lust. Our weakness."

Merrill met Hawke's gaze now, eyes wider than ever. Hawke took a deep breath and continued. "But we're not you, Merrill. We don't know demons like you do. We all have our strengths and our weaknesses, but this isn't one of them."

She gestured to Isabela. "'Bela is a master at ferreting out mutiny and treachery. She didn't trust Leliana from the beginning. If we all had her sense of other people's loyalty, we probably would never have had to worry about being so paranoid."

She turned to Aveline. "Our guard captain here is like the team mother. She keeps us focused and makes sure we're not at each other's throats. She makes sure our minds are fixed on the task at hand. We would have all broken down and resorted to killing each other long ago without her.

"Fenris," she continued, "is a human wrecking ball. He has a strength and fury that none of us can match. Without him here, that demon would have killed all of us."

She spread her arms. "None of us are perfect, Merrill, but we all do have our roles to play. And you're no different. You know how to deal with demons in a way none of us could ever hope to. We can't match that power any more than you could kick down a door like Fenris does."

"Lies," Validation hissed. There was fear in her voice now. "She's jealous of your abilities. She wants them for herself."

"We all have our roles to play," Hawke said again. She gestured to herself and the others. "The rest of us… we were never going to stand a chance against this demon. But you _can_. If you're willing to give us all a second chance. We _need_ your help."

Tears were streaming down Merrill's cheeks and for a moment, Hawke thought she was going to turn down the offer. But then the little elf let out a sigh and gasped, "You owe me _so _many flowers once this is all done, Hawke."

Then she put both hands on Validation's chest and shoved the demon away. Validation sputtered, shocked at the rebuttal, and then suddenly went stiff as the sharp sound of metal piercing flesh echoed through the still and silent clinic. Her red eyes stretched wide, staring off into nowhere in particular. The roiling smoke billowing around her feet stilled, then slowly tapered away into empty air.

Slowly, almost elegantly, the demon slumped to her knees to reveal a weak-looking Victory standing just behind her, the long-bladed Orlesian dagger clutched in her hand stained black with demon blood. Leliana supported the spirit with one thin arm wrapped around her shoulders.

"Quick!" Merrill shouted, breaking the hazy sensation that had fallen upon them all. She reached out a hand to Aveline, beckoning with her fingers.

The bulky woman didn't hesitate; she raised her sword and threw it hilt first to her friend. Merrill snatched at it with nimble fingers, almost dragged off her feet by the weight. She hefted the large weapon over her shoulder and fixed Validation with a furious glare.

"These people _are_ my family," she said, her voice firm and sure. "I have a place here. You do not."

With an almighty wrench, she swung the sword with all the might her bony body could muster. The blade whistled through the air before carving deep into Validation's ghostly flesh and cleanly slicing her head from her shoulders. The blade continued its path through the air, driving Merrill a few steps to her right before she could get it under control once more.

There was silence throughout the clinic. The demon's head rolled to the side, falling into the dirt with a dull thump and rolling away into the corner. The body remained upright, fingers twitching as if in shock. Then it too slumped to the side and fell limp to the dirt.

Hawke blinked, not willing to take her eyes off the corpse in case it was all some cruel trick.

She and all the others flinched and reached for their weapons as Validation's body suddenly pulsed with bright green light and began to melt away. Tiny embers of pale green wafted into the air as the body faded into glowing ashes like a leaf on a funeral pyre. Isabela reached up with wide eyes to pluck one of the embers from the air, but it vanished the moment it touched her skin. The ash danced up into the still air before they too were vaporized in little puffs of emerald light. Within moments, nothing was left of the demon to see.

Slowly, every gaze fell on Merrill. The little elf staggered back a few shaky steps and Aveline's sword fell to the ground with a loud _thud_. She put her hands to her mouth as she stumbled toward Varric, her eyes wide and horrified. She sank to her knees and covered her eyes, letting out a short and fearful sob.

"Is it over?" she whispered. "Is it really over?"

* * *

_Author's Note: The answer is not quite. I feel like a broken record player, but one more chapter! I promise!_

_I still have a little more to tell before safely moving on to the epilogue. But we're so close to the end now I can taste it!_


	27. Victory's True Form

Hawke couldn't stop herself from letting out a cheer and racing over to her friend, sprawling to her knees in front of her and gripping her shoulders. She was grinning so wide she thought her face would split in half, her heart racing with such profound joy she felt like her body could not contain it all.

"You did it!" she cried. "It's over!"

Varric let out a cheer, clapping his hands over his head as a huge grin pulled at his wide-jawed face. Isabela glanced over at Leliana, then allowed herself to laugh as well. The piratess sauntered over and helped Fenris to his feet, then pulled the stiff elf into an uncomfortable-looking hug. Even he managed to look grudgingly pleased it was all over, his small smirk breaking into a full smile as Isabela clapped his shoulder and handed him his greatsword.

Justice, meanwhile, moved toward the spot where Validation had fell, nudging the scorched dirt with one toe, regarding the evidence of the demon's passing with a cautious gaze. He passed one hand over the ground, his fingers flashing with magic that floated out into the sky like a cloud of multicolored smoke. After a few moments he pulled his hand back into a fist and the magic died away.

"It is finished," he said, turning back to them. "The demon is gone and the Fade rift we opened was sealed without leaving a scar. The clinic is safe again."

Hawke pulled Merrill close as the Dalish mage broke into exhausted, joyful tears. She enfolded the elf in the warmest hug she could manage while Merrill clutched at her, sobbing softly and burying her face in her neck. Marian pressed a kiss to Merrill's forehead and inhaled the heady scent of earth and pine needles that clung to the elven woman's hair.

"You did it, Merrill," she murmured, squeezing her friend tightly. "You did it!"

Merrill shivered and said nothing, just sobbing quietly. Hawke was content to bury her face in Merrill's messy black hair and never let go, but she fell back a little when the lanky elven girl shifted in her arms and looked up at her with those beautiful, quizzical green eyes.

No words were spoken; none needed to be said. Merrill's fingers threaded into the laces of Hawke's jacket and gently pulled her forward. Hawke's heart was racing, a flood of ice-cold adrenaline rushing through her veins as Merrill leaned closer and closer. Soft breath tickled Hawke's lips for a split second before they were enveloped by soft, velvety warmth.

Their lips met gently, tentatively, as if both were afraid of where this delightful risk would take them. But after a few moments Merrill made a soft whimpering sound and drew closer, her fingers trailing up along Hawke's cheeks before tangling in her hair. Hawke's palms ghosted down across the elf's sides before meeting at the small of her back and pulling her little Dalish mage closer.

It seemed like far too short a time before they parted and Hawke rested her forehead against Merrill's. When she looked up, the mage's eyes were sparkling with a joy Hawke had never seen before.

"It's…" Hawke licked her lips. "It's good to have you back, Merrill."

Merrill smiled at her, a deep blush turning her cheeks a bright embarrassed red. "I… I love you, Hawke."

Marian blinked, staring at Merrill with undisguised surprise and shock. But then she grinned and pulled Merrill close again, tucking the girl tight against her shoulder. "I would have guessed you were going to say something about those flowers," she murmured into her ear, "but that'll work too."

Merrill giggled, and Hawke could feel the heat from her blush. "I-I'm sorry. That just slipped out. I-I don't know what I was thinking and—"

Hawke silenced her with another kiss and Merrill let out a surprised "mph!" When Hawke drew back, she shot her love a crooked, roguish grin.

"You talk too much."

* * *

**Kirkwall (Present)**

"I hate to interrupt, Varric," Leliana said, a skeptical eyebrow arching over her cold blue eyes. "But that didn't happen."

Varric put his hands to his chest, feigning g a pained expression. "Didn't happen? Lady Nightingale, you _wound_ me. I have sworn before the Maker and all the dwarven paragons to tell the truth!"

"Yet you also told me," Cassandra said with narrowed eyes, "the Champion once hunted down an arsonist who turned out to be nothing more than an allergy-stricken apostate who shot fire from his nose every time he sneezed."

Varric nodded, a smug grin pulling at his lips. "Kirkwall can get pretty dusty in the summer, Seeker. It's more common than you might think."

Cassandra rolled her eyes while Leliana just folded her arms. "Varric, I was _there_. I know what really happened. You are changing the story. Why?"

He settled back in his seat, a frown finally crossing his face. He folded his arms across his chest with a weary sigh. "Maybe it's because I think it _should_ have happened. Maybe it's because that's Hawke and Merrill _deserved _to have happen. We had all just been through hell. Is it too much to ask for our heroes to live happily ever after?"

Cassandra paced in front of him, arms folded. "I did not bring you here to listen to one of your outlandish romance tales, Varric. If I wanted that, I would have read one of your disgusting books."

He raised his chin stubbornly, ignoring the fire that burned behind Pentaghast's dark brown eyes. "You know what you wanted to know, Seeker. Why not just give me this small alteration?"

"If you will not tell the truth," Leliana said, "then I will provide the missing details."

"You wouldn't."

"You have agreed to tell this story to completion. If _you_ will not keep that promise, _I_ will ensure you do."

Varric tossed his hands into the air in surrender. "Fine, fine! I surrender. If that's what you want, I guess. But I'm sure you'll find that my ending is better."

"We shall see," Cassandra growled.

* * *

**Anders' Clinic (Past)**

Hawke lost herself in the bottomless green of Merrill's eyes, feeling the ghostly caress of the elf's breath on her lips as she leaned closer, and closer…

There was a sudden cry from behind them, followed by the sounds of a scuffle. Merrill sucked in a shocked breath and pulled away, looking over Hawke's shoulder. Hawke turned as well and saw Leliana collapse to the ground as Victory went limp in her arms.

"Victory!" Merrill pulled away from Hawke and sprinted to the spirit's side, falling to her knees next to Leliana. She clutched the elven spirit's hand tight in her own, her eyes wide and afraid. She looked up to Justice, who was picking himself up from his seated position next to the wall.

"What's happening to her?"

Justice sighed, his face sad and exhausted. He knelt next to Victory and put a hand on her shoulder. "She is dying. She has been away from the Fade for too long. The latent magic that sustains her has been stripped away. Such a change is killing her."

Hawke could believe it. The light that raced beneath the spirit's skin had dulled to a weak pulse. Her skin was a sickly gray, her eyelids fluttering. She looked only marginally more alive than Xenon the Antiquarian; a frightening thought in itself.

But Merrill would hear nothing of it. She shook her head and cried, "_No!_ Isn't there anything you can do?"

Victory shuddered in Leliana's arms. Her voice was quiet and labored, her breath coming in pained gasps. "This was always a risk, Merrill. One that I was willing to take."

Merrill shook her head, lips pursed tightly as she fought back tears. "No. No, you're going to be _fine_. Justice can open up a portal back to the Fade. We can send you through it! We can get you back home!"

"Merrill…"

The elf's tiny braids flapped back and forth as she shook her head vehemently. "No, you _can't_ die! You helped me get back home! I'll help you get back home too!"

She looked around wildly, as if she could conjure a solution from thin air. "What about… the rift back in the cave? The one Validation escaped through! We could send you back through that!"

Victory coughed, forcing a shaky smile. "I… appreciate your dedication, Merrill, but… but I will not survive the trek to the rift. This… is the fate I must face… alone."

Merrill shook her head, her voice cracking. "No. _No_, that's not _true_..."

Victory craned her neck up and met Leliana's eyes. The bard's eyes were dark and mournful, her chin quivering; yet despite all this, no tears were allowed to fall from her eyes. Victory smiled at her, resting her head back against the Nightingale's shoulder before reaching up to trace her fingers along Leliana's cheek.

Merrill's voice was weak, her shoulders shivering violently. "Do not ask me to do this, Lyna. Do not make me lose you again."

"She… she would have been very proud of you," Victory whimpered, holding Merrill's gaze. "She… she never wanted to hurt you. She wanted to… wanted to tell you…"

"Shh," Leliana hushed her. "You need to save your strength."

But Victory shook her head. "I need… need to say this before… before my strength leaves me for good…"

All attention was focused on the spirit now, and Hawke doubted any of them could look away if they wanted to. Justice was leaning on his staff, a defeated look in his glowing blue eyes. Isabela was crouching next to Merrill, a comforting hand on the elf's furry shoulder pauldron. Fenris and Aveline were standing together to the rear of the group, Aveline with her head lowered respectfully, Fenris with his arms folded across his chest. Hawke stood off to the side, hands linked in front of her. Varric was next to her, cradling Bianca in his arms.

Every fiber of Hawke's body screamed for her to do something, to say _something _to help her friend. But she didn't know how to fix this, or how to ease Merrill's pain. All any of them could do was wait for the inevitable.

And she hated herself for it.

"She… she loved you," Victory gasped. She took a deep, shaky breath and glanced between Merrill and Leliana. "Both of you."

A hiss tore itself from her throat and she gasped, "Merrill… do not despair at Mahariel's departure from your clan. S-she… she did not want to leave you… But the sickness that coursed through her veins left her no other choice."

"You…" Leliana stared at Merrill with dawning realization. "You were a part of Lyna's clan?"

Merrill ignored her, sniffing as she reached out and clutched tightly to Victory's hand. "I… I never…" Merrill let out a shaky breath. "I thought Lyna had abandoned me. I thought she hated me and that she would rather go anywhere than be with me…"

A watery smile brightened her features the slightest bit. "But for once, it's good to know I was wrong."

She bit her lip, then said, "I wouldn't have been able to defeat Validation without you. I… I know we didn't always see eye to eye, but…"

"You do not need to say more," Victory said. "You sought to… free the spirits of the Fade of Validation's influence. You were as much my salvation as you were theirs."

Merrill smiled a little, staring at the ground. "Thank you, Victory."

Victory smiled weakly back at her. "_Dareth shiral, lethallan."_

Merrill's smile faded, her body tense and stiff with sorrow as she continued staring at the ground. She bit back a sob and managed to choke out, "_Ar lasa mala revas, emma lath."_

The spirit shuddered and her eyes squeezed shut in a painful grimace. Merrill whimpered and turned away, to be swiftly enveloped in a soft hug from Isabela.

Victory's dimming violet gaze turned to Leliana now. She moved to smile, but the expression quickly shifted to a grimace. She moaned, her voice tight and full of pain as purple-white light surged beneath her skin. Her eyes went hazy for a few moments, clouded by agony, then she relaxed and released a long and relieved sigh.

"_Ma vhenan…_"

Leliana's face broke into a smile, though tears were streaming down her cheeks. She traced the soft pad of her thumb along Victory's cheek. "I am here, Mahariel."

Victory reached up and clasped Leliana's fingers with her own. She let out a little gasp, a pulse of brilliant purple lightning racing along the tracks under her skin. Hawke could easily see they were coming faster now; Victory didn't have much time left.

"She… I… _We _never wanted to hurt you," the spirit gasped. "We… never wanted…"

"You do not need to say more. I know she… I know _you_ did the best you could."

"No," Victory shook her head. "No, we… we made a mistake. We should have told you what was going to happen. We should have…"

Leliana pulled the spirit close, kissing her forehead with a tenderness and affection that Hawke would have thought impossible coming from the bard. "Shh, love. You did what was needed of you. I would not have expected you to do any less."

"If… If we could turn back time…"

"I would not ask for things to be any different. You saved all of Thedas, _ma chérie_. That is far more important."

Victory smiled weakly, tracing Leliana's cheek with the back of one hand. "You were always so willing to put others before yourself. We loved that about you. But… always thought you deserved better. Deserved…"

"I got better," Leliana's face broke into a stunning smile, though her eyes hinted at a deeper sadness. "I got you. Even if it was so short a time, every moment was worth it."

Victory sighed, relaxing against Leliana's shoulder. "We… _I_ will miss you."

"And I you. But I am willing to let you rest; Lyna and Victory both. I think we have all earned it."

Victory nodded. "I feel… I feel I am ready…"

She looked up at the ceiling and relaxed, a near-silent sigh escaping her smiling lips. Her eyelids flickered, then closed, and her body went limp in Leliana's arms and didn't move again. The traces of purple-white magic beneath her skin pulsed once, then faded away into nothingness.

Merrill's eyes were wide, her lips quivering. But she said nothing. No one said anything. Hawke doubted she could even think of any words that would ease Merrill's pain. So she just put a hand on Merrill's shoulder and squeezed, letting the elven mage know that she was still there.

Suddenly, the air crackled and seemed to stretch taught with electricity. It was a sensation powerful enough that everyone visibly flinched, drawing away from Victory. The lightning that had flowed beneath her flesh flared to life and flickering fire of the same hue consumed her entire body. Leliana moved to draw away before she could be burned, but the fire raged against the bare skin of her arms and didn't leave so much as a mark.

Victory began to fade, consumed by the flames that were consuming her. The tanned face, adorned with the intricate lines of her _vallaslin_, was burned away, revealing a fiery skull beneath. Her armor likewise disintegrated away to show the sharp angles of a skeleton consumed by an inferno.

"What…" Merrill's voice faltered. "What's happening?"

"Her true form," Justice intoned. "The spirit that lies beneath the mask of the Hero of Ferelden."

The blazing skeleton remained for a few timeless moments, the fire roaring and crackling in the silence of the clinic. Then, seemingly within the blink of an eye, the fire vanished and the skeleton blinked out of existence. Leliana was left holding nothing more than empty air, and the tension that had clogged the room vanished.

Merrill blinked, then looked to Justice. "Is… is she…"

"She is gone," was all the spirit would say. "I am… sorry for your loss."

He bowed his head, placing his hand over his heart. Then, like with Victory, the magical beat of lightning beneath his skin flickered out. When he looked up again, his eyes were no longer consumed by roiling blue-white magic; instead, they were clear, brown, and full of confusion.

"What…" he staggered a little and put a hand to his forehead. "What in the name of Andraste's tits just happened?"

"Welcome back, Blondie," Varric sighed, hooking his thumbs in his belt.

"Maker," Anders said, squinting at the dwarf. "You look terrible. You all do. How… how long was I out?"

"Almost two hours," Aveline said. She jerked her head to the other room. "Come. I'll fill you in on the details. We should probably give Merrill and the others a few moments."

Anders nodded and followed the tall redhead to the next room, still rubbing at his forehead. Varric followed close behind, returning Bianca to her sling over his shoulder. Fenris remained, staring at Merrill for a few tense moments with narrowed eyes.

"Learn from this," was all he said.

Then he left the room as well.

* * *

_Author's Note: FINALLY! As much fun as I had writing this story, I was starting to feel like it was never going to be finished. It's a very good feeling, knowing it's finally done. All that's left now is the epilogue, and this book can officially be closed._

_Also, I feel that some clarification is necessary regarding Victory/Mahariel. Due to time constraints, I was forced to leave out some scenes that explained a little more about her personality and what she was going to become. Now that I'm finished I will probably go back and add them back in. However, some explanation is necessary now to avoid potential confusion._

_Victory took Mahariel's form because the Warden embodied everything Victory herself stood for: honor in battle, heroism, diplomacy, and above all else victory. Under Mahariel's guidance, an entire country united into a single army and that power drew Victory's attention. Victory was changed by Lyna, similar to how the Fade spirit in Dragon Age: Inquisition was changed by Divine Justinia and took her form as a result. _

_As time passed and Victory saw more and more spirits fall to Validation's evil, she began to convince herself that defeating the demon was worth any cost. In this reasoning, she began to stray closer and closer to becoming a spirit of Domination._

_But when Mahariel died killing the archdemon, unbeknownst to either party, a small seed of Mahariel's personality was transferred to Victory via the bond the two shared. And when given the proper stimulation of remnants of Lyna's past, this seed began to grow. Victory began to gain small, fragmented memories, personality traits, and behavioral quirks (shown in Merrill's remarks that Victory hummed the same song after battle that Lyna had.)_

_When Validation decided to use faces from Lyna's past to taunt Victory and try to convince her that her appearance as the warden was just a sham to cover up her own weakness, that seed of Mahariel, started growing exponentially. While the resulting personality was not truly Mahariel – because Lyna did die killing the archdemon – enough of her spirit remained that she could predict what Mahariel would have said in a given situation (e.g., Merrill's nightmare, when the two kissed). By the end, the two personas had fused until only one remained: a kind of rough amalgamation of both Victory and Mahariel._

_In the end, the part of Victory that believed killing Validation at any cost was snuffed out by Mahariel's belief that if anyone should be sacrificed for the greater good, it should be her. She reflected this in her final decisions, when she agreed to be torn from the Fade even though she knew it would kill her. In that moment, she was behaving just as Mahariel did when the Warden decided to kill the archdemon herself and sacrifice herself in the process._

_*whew* _

_While I am disappointed I had to cut out so much that I have to explain this now, _Shadows Within_ in its current form is still in a very rough state. I will be re-editing and adding scenes in the future, as I do with almost all my writing and hopefully some of the storyline gets clearer with subsequent updates._

_And now, on to the epilogue!_


	28. Heartbreak

**Merrill's Home**

The others parted with them at the clinic after Anders confirmed that the demon was gone, with no threat of return. It seemed like everyone was more than happy to get some food, rest, and – in Isabela's case – enough strong drink to soak a dwarf.

Hawke, however was not willing to let Merrill out of her sight, especially not after everything they'd been through. The others who were left, Varric and Leliana, seemed to share this belief. Together, they helped the exhausted elf back to her apartment. Merrill disagreed at first, protesting that she wasn't some child that needed to be walked home. But they were all too tired to get into an argument and Merrill's complaints soon died down.

The sunset-painted streets of Lowtown were thankfully almost deserted all the way to the alienage. A few of Merrill's local friends followed the fatigued, bruised, and bloodied cadre with curious stares before turning back to their business; after all, it wasn't exactly uncommon for Hawke or her friends to return home sore, tired, and soaked in blood.

Once they had entered Merrill's apartment, Leliana led the elven girl to her room, all while urging her to rest and recover her strength. Varric set to starting a fire. He nudged at the logs in the fireplace with the poker, a grim frown on his face.

He glanced over his shoulder at Hawke. "Could you lend me a hand?"

Hawke twitched her fingers and the fireplace roared to life. Varric brushed off his hands and took a seat at the book-strewn table nearby. There was a hard look in his eyes that Hawke didn't like. She knew better than to pry, especially when it came to Varric; as outgoing and sociable as the dwarf was, he kept personal matters hidden better than Sebastian's collection of dirty books (if such a collection even existed).

"Something on your mind?" Hawke leaned against the fireplace, staring into the flames.

He sighed and rested his hands over his belt buckle. When he spoke, his voice was low and hesitant. "I just… I feel bad for Daisy. Did she ever mention this Mahariel woman before?"

Hawke turned and took a seat across from him, easing into the chair with a grimace as her muscles cried out to protest the motion. "Only in passing, I think. I know they were good friends, but Mahariel left their clan. I don't know why."

"To become a Grey Warden, apparently," Varric said, shaking his head. "You heard what Sparkles said? He referred to Merrill's friend as the _Hero of Ferelden_."

Hawke's expression hardened. "I heard."

"Then you know that the Hero of Ferelden died in Denerim almost a year ago? She didn't survive the battle and was killed while destroying the archdemon."

"I've heard the rumors, of course," Hawke said with a sigh. "Do you think Merrill knows?"

"Our Daisy is smarter than many give her credit for, Hawke. I wouldn't be surprised." He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Is there a single part of that girl's personal life that isn't a complete mess?"

"Well," Hawke pointed out with a weary smile, "she did decide to befriend us. Do you think that was a mistake?"

"You know what I mean, Marian."

Hawke nodded. "I know… I want to help her, but… but what can I do?"

"You know what you can do."

She rested her hands on the tabletop. "Varric… I doubt Merrill wants to talk about _feelings_ and _romance_ right about now. Whatever I feel…"

"Hawke, you've faced dragons, darkspawn, and now demons. But the first mention of romance and you get cold feet?"

"Maybe I'm just shy."

Varric snorted. "Hawke—"

"I'm not joking. Not quite. Living your entire life on the run doesn't leave much time for… for things like this. I know Merrill understands how I feel about her, and I'm pretty sure she feels the same way about me, but…"

"But nothing! Just _tell_ her. Put it in words so there's no more dancing around the issue! It'll go a long way to getting Daisy back on her feet, I'll bet."

"This isn't one of your romance serials, Varric," Hawke said, frowning at him. "Things… things just don't work like that."

"And how do you know? If you're really so inexperienced, how do you know Daisy won't leap into your arms when you tell her?"

"Because…" Hawke sighed and shook her head. "Because it's never that simple. Validation proved that."

"What do you mean?"

"You think you're so knowledgeable about matters of the heart, but you couldn't tell that Merrill had feelings for her friend? The Grey Warden?"

"Mahariel? I would cry if _you_ died, Hawke, but that hardly means I'm head-over-heels for you."

"She _kissed_ Victory. I think that suggests she was more than a passing acquaintance."

"And _you_ kissed Isabela after we managed to wake you up back in Hightown. And as far as I know you two aren't going to get married anytime soon."

Hawke considered making some snide remark, batting her eyelashes at Varric and saying, _Are you so sure? I _am_ quite a catch, after all._

But the humor was only a reactionary response. There was nothing funny about Merrill's grief, Validation's deceptions, or Hawke's current predicament.

She laced her fingers together on the tabletop, staring absently at a scroll on Dalish ruins discovered in Ferelden's Brecilian Forest that rested near her elbow. "I don't know," she sighed. "I'm just scared, I guess. I've lost so much these past few years. My father, my sister, my home in Lothering… I don't want to lose more. And I didn't exactly conduct myself with grace and poise while in the Fade."

"How so?"

"I… Validation tricked me into thinking Isabela was, ah…" Hawke grimaced. "She was seducing me. And… well, it worked."

One of Varric's eyebrows twitched up. "Oh. Well…"

"Yeah. And Merrill saw the whole thing."

"The _whole_ thing?"

"The important _Hawke's-got-no-clothes-on-and-is-snogging-a-demon_ bit, yeah."

He frowned for a moment, then said, "So how does that change anything? You were tricked!"

"I'm not sure she'll see it that way," Hawke said, glancing at the door to Merrill's room. "I'm… I'm actually afraid of how she'll see it. She didn't try and cut my throat in the Fade, but… it certainly looked like she wanted to."

"Perfectly understandable, I suppose," Varric said, leaning back in his chair and putting his feet up on the table. "But are you going let that stop you? Are you going to trade the potential for happiness on the off-chance something gets screwed-up?"

"Varric—"

He interrupted her. "Hawke, I'm saying this as your friend. As cute as it is watching you two making googly-eyes whenever you think the other isn't looking, this is unhealthy. You both deserve to be happy."

"You're… you're not wrong."

"Of course not. I'm hardly ever wrong."

"So what do I do?" she insisted. "Just waltz in there and kiss her?"

"I would be a little more tactful than that, particularly if what you said about cavorting with demons is true. Just tell her how you _feel_. There's no shame in that."

"No," Hawke said. "But there can be quite a bit of embarrassment."

"What's the worst that can happen?"

Hawke began counting off on her fingers. "I could make a fool of myself, I could scare her so bad I ruin any chance with her, I could insult and offend her because she has feelings for someone else _or_ because she's still mad at me for having a go at the demon possessing her…"

"For someone who spends so much time cracking jokes and making bad puns," Varric said, "you are a royal pessimist, Hawke."

"It runs in the family."

"Well as your friend and business partner, I'm going to tell you that your only opportunity to come out of this ahead is to go in there and tell that sweet innocent girl that you want to snog her tattooed face off."

He waved a hand in the air. "As Isabela would say."

Hawke finally laughed, though it was tense and anxious. "All right, all right, you win. As soon as Lady Nightingale is finished talking with her, I'll… I'll tell her how I feel."

She glanced at the doorway again. _Maker_, she thought. _This is not going to end well._

* * *

"Are you comfortable?"

Merrill nodded as she settled back against her pillow, the thick blanket tucked tight around her shoulders. "Very comfortable, thank you."

She giggled quietly. "I haven't had someone tuck me in to bed since I was eleven years old. It feels kind of strange to have someone doing it now. But thank you."

"You are welcome, child," Leliana smiled at her. "Do you need anything?"

"No thank you. But… I-I have questions."

Leliana nodded knowingly. She had expected something like this. She slowly took a seat in the chair next to Merrill's bed, grimacing as her aching muscles shouted in protest. "I am sure you have many questions. I will answer what I can."

Merrill's first question, however, surprised her.

"Who are you exactly?"

Leliana blinked a few times, then gave Merrill her warmest smile. "Forgive me. I forgot that we have never been properly introduced. I arrived shortly after you were… taken elsewhere by the demon."

She bowed her head. "I am Sister Leliana of Orlais, commonly known as Lady Nightingale. I am…"

She hesitated. What would she tell the girl? Would she feed her the same excuse as she had Hawke? Would she try to play herself off as a bard? That hadn't worked well for her before, and there was no reason to believe it would work now.

After all she had been through, Merrill deserved to know the truth.

She took a deep breath while staring down into her lap. "I am an agent of the Chantry, charged with hunting apostates and blood mages within Kirkwall. I came here to investigate and – if necessary – to kill your friend Hawke."

She expected some kind of reprisal, or even for the elven mage to attack her. But when she looked up, she saw that Merrill was only staring at her quizzically, her head tilted a little to one side. After a few moments, the girl's brows pulled together in a curious frown. "What made you change your mind?"

"How do you know I did?"

Merrill settled back against her pillows again. "You've been _working_ with Hawke, haven't you? And you haven't killed _me_ yet. Or Anders. Something must have changed your mind."

"I… yes. Hawke did, actually. She is not what I expected from an apostate, particularly in this city. My mission dictates that I only eliminate dangerous apostates. But Hawke is… a good woman."

"Yes." A sad look crept into Merrill's eyes. "Yes she is."

"As are you."

"What?" Merrill's nose scrunched up as she frowned.

"You are a very brave girl, Merrill. Not many would have the courage to stand up to a demon the way you did."

Merrill's tattooed cheeks warmed with a deep blush. "You don't mean that. I got possessed!"

"But I do mean it," Leliana said with a small smile. "You made a terrible mistake, it is true. But you also did everything within your power to correct that mistake. Not many would have shown that kind of fortitude. I certainly did not expect it from a blood mage."

She settled back in the chair. "So as far as I am concerned, you, Hawke, and the other mages I have met thus far are free from my scrutiny. And please know that it was my privilege to help you both."

Merrill giggled a little. "Didn't you say you planned to kill Hawke before?"

"A poor decision on my part," Leliana admitted. "You are not the only one who makes mistakes, Merrill."

"Well… thank you for changing your mind. And for not killing Hawke. I'm rather fond of her, you know."

Leliana smiled. "I can understand why. She is a good woman."

They lapsed into silence for a time. Merrill let out a long breath and closed her eyes, obviously unable to keep them open for much longer. But Leliana fidgeted anxiously, unable to hold back her curiosity. She clasped her hands in her lap, chewing her lip. "Before I let you sleep, I… I wanted to talk. About Victory."

Merrill shifted, resting her hands across her stomach. She had suddenly gone very tense. "I'm sorry. But I don't want to talk about her right now."

"I know. And I apologize. But… but I wanted to ask you about—"

Merrill's face tightened. "You want to know about Mahariel."

Just hearing the name spoken aloud made Leliana's gut twist. "Yes. It is… more important than you know."

Merrill didn't say anything.

"You knew her?"

A slow nod.

"How?"

The little elf licked her dry lips and said, "I… I really don't want to talk about it."

"Please, Merrill. I need to know."

Merrill sighed and closed her eyes. "She is part of my clan. A hunter. My friend. My only friend."

She shook her head. "No one else in the clan liked me. They thought I was too strict, too devoted to the Keeper and to following the rules. But Lyna… we'd been friends since we were children. Ever since my parents gave me over to the Sabrae. And since her parents…"

Leliana's lips tightened. She had long since come to terms with how little she really knew about her beloved Warden. But it was painful to only be hearing it now, from someone who obviously had known Lyna far better than she ever had. She knew it wasn't a good idea, but she had to know more.

"What was she like? When you knew her, I mean."

Merrill opened her eyes, staring absently up at the ceiling. "She was… she was so _strong_. She was the swiftest hunter in all our clan, the best shot with a bow… She loved to tell stories, loved to sit around campfires at night with the clan's little ones and help Hahren Paivel teach them about their history."

A small smile tugged at her lips. "And she loved animals. She always loved to help the Halla keepers, and was always begging the Keeper to bring along various forest animals when we moved on to a new area to camp. I remember… she managed to smuggle a little forest squirrel in her hunting jerkin for almost a month. Fed it by slipping food down her sleeve when no one was looking. Marethari was _so angry_ when she found out…"

She looked over to Leliana and smiled. "She named it _Nutty. _Nutty the Squirrel. How silly!"

Leliana smiled back. That wasn't hard to believe. Lyna had always had a talent with animals, as well as a knack for giving them the most ridiculous names. From the ferocious Barkspawn to Schmooples the Nug and The Steel Pigeon, her party never seemed to be completely free of oddly-named creature companions.

Merrill sat back, staring up at the ceiling. "But for all that, she often seemed… I'm not sure. Lonely. She kept to herself a lot. Liked sitting in the branches of trees at night and just… thinking.

Leliana remembered that as well; sitting together in the branches of a tall, sturdy tree near where they were camped, wrapped in each other's arms. They were fleeting moments of safety, the longing for which often dug into Leliana's gut as sharply and painfully as a dagger. She remembered being able to feel the brush of the night wind on her face, the warmth of Lyna's breath at her ear. They would sit there for hours if possible, listening to Alistair and Morrigan bickering in the camp below while Shale and Sten watched from the sidelines with stoic amusement.

She closed her eyes. It had been the strangest of places to call home, but wherever that delightfully inept band of misfits went, she had been happy to follow. It was heartbreaking to know that it was all over, and it was not likely they would ever reunite.

"And how… how did she leave your clan?"

Merrill sighed. "It was not a happy time. Lyna was out hunting and stumbled across a band of humans deep in Ferelden's Brecilian forest. The humans claimed they had been fleeing from demons. When she and another hunter, Tamlen, followed their directions, they stumbled across old elven ruins. And inside, they found…"

Leliana couldn't miss how Merrill's eyes darted to the corner over her shoulder. Leliana shifted to stare at the intricate and extravagant standing mirror behind her.

Large, twisting branches curled around it like the tendrils of some great ocean monster, pulling the mirror close in an almost sinister embrace. Swooping figures carved from shimmering gold crawled up the sides of the mirror, though the mirror itself was dirty and cracked. It was magical; Leliana could feel the power pouring from the artifact. But whether it was good or bad magic was unknowable. She was no mage.

Leliana's voice was barely above a whisper. "They found that?"

Merrill gulped. "T-they did. And it… it _changed_ them."

Leliana looked back to the elf. "How so?"

"I don't know. It exploded. We never found Tamlen, but it made Lyna sick. Then that _shem_, the Grey Warden, showed up. And he took Mahariel away."

_The Grey Warden? She must mean Duncan. Lyna spoke fondly of him. Strange that Merrill speaks of him with such fear_.

Merrill's voice cracked. "I-I begged Keeper Marethari to send him from our camp, to not let him take Lyna away from us. But Lyna was sick, and growing worse by the day. The Grey Warden said he had a cure. But he also said she would never be allowed to return. He said… he said we didn't have a choice."

Merrill took a deep, steadying breath and continued. "And after the _shem_ took her away… I never saw her again. She promised me she would write, but she never did. She said her good-byes to the clan, gave away all her possessions… then she was gone. It was like she just _forgot_ about us all."

"Merrill…"

A frown creased the elven girl's forehead and she sniffed. "Did she really hate us that much? Why did she run off with that _shem_ and never come back? S-she promised she would _come back_…"

There was something in the her behavior that caught Leliana's attention; the slight quiver in her voice when she spoke of Mahariel, the glassy look in her eyes, like she was caught up in fond but painful memories of the past. She knew that feeling all too well.

"You loved her."

Merrill didn't speak, but the blush slowly creeping up her cheeks told Leliana more than a thousand words ever could. She released a long breath she hadn't known she was holding, then forced a reassuring smile. "Do not be embarrassed, child. You have nothing to feel ashamed of."

Merrill shook her head. "She was so strong. And beautiful. And courageous, and kind, and… and I was never brave enough to tell her how I felt. I don't think she ever saw me as anything more than a friend. A good friend, I hope."

Leliana didn't trust herself to say anything. Her own emotions were too raw. She stifled a sniff of her own and simply looked at the floor, saying nothing. Merrill fought to steady her shaky breath for a few moments, then turned her large eyes on Leliana.

"She knew you. Victory, I mean. That means you met Lyna? Is she all right? Is she coming back to the clan?"

Leliana's heart sank. "I… yes. Yes I met her. Almost two years ago now. It must not have been long after she left your people."

Leliana didn't know what hurt more: revisiting these painful memories herself, or the spark of hope that was now beginning to flicker in Merrill's eyes. She knew she couldn't lead the diminutive elf on. She had to tell the truth now. "Merrill… there's something you need to know…"

She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself. "Lyna… I'm sorry, but she… she died. She was killed. Some time ago."

When she opened her eyes, she found Merrill staring at her in silent horror. The little elf's face drained of all color, and she slowly shook her head but said nothing. Her lips were pressed into a tight and quivering line, tears welling up in her eyes. They were quickly forced away, locked behind an iron mask of detachment that she very clearly struggled to maintain. She looked away, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

The sight broke Leliana's heart more than tears ever could. She reached forward and clasped the elven girl's hand tightly. "I'm so sorry, Merrill. I… I had no idea that you knew her, otherwise I would have told you sooner."

Merrill lay back against her cot, pointedly removing her hand from Leliana's grip. The Nightingale stared at her, then rubbed her weary eyes and looked at the ground.

"She died bravely," she said, knowing it wouldn't help. "It sounds romantic, but she saved all of Ferelden from the Blight. Hers was the blade that struck down the Archdemon. She is the Hero of Ferelden everyone has been talking about."

"I don't _care_ about Blights or Archdemons or Heroes…" Merrill finally spoke. Her voice was very quiet and so full of pain it made Leliana wince to hear it. Unlike her agonized tears before, when Victory lay broken and dying before her, Merrill's voice now was very tightly controlled, as if the girl was trying furiously to let no tears fall this time.

When she looked over at Leliana, there was an all-too-familiar pain in her gaze. It was a pain that could not be consoled with mere words, a pain that went beyond tears. It was a dull pain, an angry, aching pain that would never leave for as long as Merrill lived.

"You knew her!" the girl hissed. Her voice shook dangerously. "Why didn't you _stop_ her?"

"I…" Leliana hesitated. "I wasn't there. She wouldn't let me… She was afraid I would…"

She trailed off, shaking her head as her own wave of emotion threatened to consume her.

She had fought. She had shouted and argued. She had even slapped Lyna, though she had instantly regretted it. But despite all the rage and tears, Lyna had been adamant that Leliana stay behind and help the rest of the forces scattered through Denerim.

It was only later that she had learned the Warden had known of her approaching death all along. And it was much later, after her anger and grief had faded away, that Leliana realized her Warden had wanted to spare her the pain of seeing her end.

Leliana should have known something was wrong. She should have suspected something would happen the moment Morrigan disappeared from their group. The witch may have been insufferably arrogant, but she was devoted to helping Mahariel at the very least. For her to vanish like that was an ill omen she should have seen coming. Then, when Lyna treated her beloved to their own private banquet of Orlesian delicacies the night before the battle, when they had danced and laughed together through the night, and then taken their dance to the bed with a sweet chorus of soft gasps and murmurs of pleasure… well, she had kept thinking it was all too good to be true.

And after the battle, when Lyna's body lay still and broken, Leliana had suddenly realized it had all been for her benefit, to leave her with fond final memories of a love that was never destined to last.

The battle had raged in Denerim for days, with the Warden valiantly leading her rag-tag army of elves, mages, dwarves, and even werewolves to the city center and the archdemon that had claimed the capitol. But when the time came for the final strike, Lyna had chosen Alistair, Zevran, and Wynne to travel with her. Not Leliana.

She had been confused and hurt; they had come this far together. Why split apart now? But Lyna had been adamant that Leliana stay behind and help the others bolster the remaining forces still fighting in the city. She had told Leliana to stay safe, then pulled her into a passionate and desperate kiss. The former Bard had clung to her Warden, praying with all her might that the heroic young elf would change her mind and allow her to lend her bow to the battle against the archdemon. But then Lyna had pulled away and left with the others, bound for the tower upon which the archdemon lay crippled. It was the last time Leliana had seen her alive.

"_The archdemon was a _test_," _Validation had hissed._ "A test of your faith and devotion to the Maker… and you were found wanting."_

Leliana could believe it. As she had helped her companions take back the ravaged city, she had seen with all the others the beam of brilliant white light that had erupted from the top of the tower and pierced the heavens. She had watched as, with a blinding flash, a wave of pulsing energy had roared out in all directions, blasting away the flame-touched clouds and smoke that had clogged the air. The Darkspawn broke and ran while cheers had erupted through the ranks of soldiers that had been battling for their city.

Leliana had stared at the tower with wide eyes, all thought of Darkspawn or Blights long gone. In that moment she knew with a cold, sickening certainty that Lyna had succeeded, but would not be returning to her arms.

_Maker please_, she remembered praying. _Please spare her. For me. Have I not been faithful? Reward my faith with this at the very least. Let her be alive._

But after it was all over, Alistair had been the last to return from the tower, solemn and silent. Carrying Lyna's limp, blood-soaked body in his arms. Her eyes had been closed, her tattooed face serene and still, as if she were only sleeping; the sight haunted Leliana's dreams and waking hours equally to this day. Alistair and Leliana both had begged Wynne to do something, to heal her, to somehow reverse what had happened. And bless her soul, Wynne had tried. She had tried every spell she could remember, every half-forgotten rejuvenating hex or healing enchantment she had learned over the course of her long life. She had poured magic into Lyna's still form until she was pale and gasping for breath from the exertion. But nothing worked.

Lyna was gone.

Leliana had been angry. _So_ angry for so long. Why hadn't Lyna _told_ her? Why hadn't she trusted that they could make a decision _together_? Leliana hadn't wanted to let her go, but looking back and realizing that parting kiss would be their _last…_

She blinked tears away, drawn back to the present by Merrill's quiet, shaky sigh. She drew in a slow breath, steeling her heart against the tide of grief that washed against her.

"I wished I would have been there, Merrill," she murmured. "But it wouldn't have changed anything. She was the only one who could have stopped the Archdemon. From what I was told, people tried to stop her, tried to take her place…"

She shook her head. "But she knew all along. She would make the killing blow and no one else."

Merrill let out a tiny gasp but said nothing, listening intently. Leliana took a deep breath. "Mahariel was… one of the most incredible people I've ever met. She made my life brighter, happier, and… it hurt to say goodbye."

"D-did you…" Merrill hesitated. "Were you a-and she… together?"

Leliana pursed her lips, then nodded.

Merrill blinked and let out a tiny, heartbroken, "Oh…"

Leliana hated herself for bringing the girl even more pain, for the look of cold, abject despair that now clouded the young mage's large green eyes. She knew from her time with Lyna that the Dalish bonded for life; even if she had somehow miraculously survived, Lyna's feelings for Leliana would have prevented any chance for Merrill to make her own intentions known. Merrill would never have been granted the love she so obviously desired from Mahariel. It was impossible.

Leliana rubbed the tears from her eyes and slowly shook her head. "I mourn her passing as much as anyone else. Most days I wish… I wish I had been the one to strike down the Archdemon. To give my life for her, as she gave hers for me. And for you."

"Did…" Merrill chewed her lip, as if she was debating with herself whether she truly wanted an answer. "Did she mention me at all?"

Leliana finally smiled. "She did, though I did not put the pieces together until Victory said you two were close. Mahariel often spoke fondly of her time with her clan: she told stories about hunting trips and about the times she and her clan-mates would play dice and trade assigned duties with each other as gambling chips."

Merrill let out a weak and watery chuckle. "I was never good at that game. But Mahariel never let me take too many jobs. She would always help me hunt or fish or clean up the Halla pens, even if she had to work extra time on her own chores."

"That doesn't surprise me at all," Leliana laughed. "There was a time I came down with a cold during our travels. She would not let me help set up camp and forced me to rest by the fire while everyone else prepared. She was very insistent for such a small woman."

"Hahren Paivel used to say she had swallowed a torch as a child," Merrill said, "and that its fire burned in her belly still, even after years."

She trailed off, her smile fading. "I still can't believe she…"

She shook her head and cleared her throat. "I'll have to inform the clan. I don't think I'll gain any favors because of it, but they still need to know. They need to… need to perform the rites and ceremonies."

"Can I be there?" Leliana quickly looked away as Merrill glanced sharply in her direction. "I-I only meant that I would like to be there. Lyna was very dear to me. I would like to meet the people that were dear to her."

"I… I don't know. Funeral rites are usually very private. _Shemlen_ are not permitted to attend, but… but in your case, I'll see if the Keeper can make an exception."

"Thank you, Merrill."

"You're welcome," Merrill's voice was still tight with grief. "Now please leave. I don't mean to be rude, but I wish to sleep and… and you've given me a lot to think about."

Leliana nodded and rose from her chair. As she passed, she put a gentle hand on Merrill's shoulder and murmured, "Merrill… _ir abelas_, _da'len_. I am sorry."

Merrill blinked, surprised at her use of elvish. "_Emma souveri numin. Ar suledin nadas."_

Leliana needed no translator to understand Merrill's words: _I am tired of tears. I must endure._

She obviously did not wish to speak with her longer. So she simply bowed her head and murmured, "Sleep well, child."

She left the room and did not look back. The uncontrollable grief would come later, would cripple her with its strength and pain once she was back in privacy, she was sure. But for now she would hold them back.

Merrill was right. She was tired of tears.

* * *

Leliana left the room to find Hawke standing just outside, leaning against the doorway with her arms folded across her chest. The mage looked up at her with a frown creasing her scarred brow, her pale grey eyes flashing dangerously.

The mage, like everyone else in the group, was a mess: both eyes were black with bruises, her lip was cut, and she had a gash on her forehead that they hadn't had time to heal with potions or magic. Her leather armor was burned, torn, and bloody, and the entire right side of her torso was darkened with blood from her earlier stab wound. Leliana could make out Hawke's pale flesh through the torn cloth and leather, the skin warped and twisted by the stitches in her side.

Leliana doubted she herself looked any better. They had all been through hell.

"So," Hawke finally said. "Where do we stand?"

"Merrill will be fine," Leliana reassured her. "She needs to rest, but she will make a full recovery. She may have some recurring nightmares for a time, but she will pull through."

"As glad as I am to hear it," Marian murmured, "that's not what I was talking about. And you know it."

"I know."

"Are you planning on handing us over to the Templars? Would you even tell me if you were?"

"Probably not," Leliana admitted. "But I did not go through all this effort to help you and your friends only to turn you over for execution or Tranquility now. I admit, at first I was… skeptical. But your friend has caused me to reevaluate my position on apostates. Even blood mages."

She met Hawke's defiant grey gaze. "You are not like the other apostates in Kirkwall. You are not seeking personal power. You seek only to protect those you care for. I can respect that."

"Can you?"

"I am not as heartless as you may believe, Marian." She hesitated, then added, "Though I have given you little reason to believe me."

Hawke held her gaze defiantly for a time, then sighed and backed down. "I guess you did help us quite a bit. We never would have found a way to free Merrill without you."

"I had hoped you would see it that way, though I have given you little reason to." Leliana drew her purple-hued hood back over her head. "For now, rest assured I will not report your location to the Templars."

Hawke nodded, looking pleased. But Leliana continued, "However, should they find you, know that I will not speak out in your defense. My presence in the city must be as clandestine as possible. If you are caught, you are on your own."

"Fair enough."

"Good. I hope for your sake you and your friends stay safe. You travel in dangerous company, Marian. If you are not careful, you may end up bringing harm to yourself, your allies… and potentially many, many more."

"Noted."

Leliana couldn't miss the way Hawke's gaze darted to the doorframe, to Merrill's exhausted form just beyond. A smile quirked her lips upward and she cocked her head a little. "You have feelings for the girl."

Hawke frowned deeper, then nodded. "She is… special to me. I can't say more at this point."

"You heard what she said before, I take it? About Mahariel?"

Hawke nodded, looking a little sad. "I always thought she was just nervous and that was why she didn't respond to my… advances. I never knew she was really in love with someone else all along. And I never could have guessed that someone would be the blighted Hero of Ferelden."

"Mahariel touched many lives," Leliana said. "And knowledge of her passing is not easy to bear. Believe me, I know. But I believe Merrill will come to terms with it in time. She is a strong young woman; far stronger than she outwardly appears. Do not sell her short."

"I don't. But…"

"You care for her," Leliana supplied. "And it hurts to not have that care returned."

"I… well, yes."

Leliana smiled and put a hand on Hawke's shoulder. "Do not rush such things, Marian. If it is the Maker's will, your feelings will be returned in time. Help her to bear this burden, and you will prove yourself a true friend. And perhaps, one day, something more."

Hawke nodded. "Thank you, Sister. For everything."

Leliana smiled. "We may not be friends, Marian, but I think we have been through enough that you can at least use my real name. Please, just Leliana."

"All right, Leliana," Hawke replied, a little of her trademark humor returning to her voice. "I shouldn't keep you from your duties. Just do us mages a favor and give us a fair shot? I wouldn't want any of my other lyrium-chugging friends to disappear during your investigation."

"I can make no promises," Leliana said seriously. "But I will try to show mercy where possible."

Hawke shrugged. "I guess that's the best I can ask for. I'd wish you good luck, but I don't think Anders would ever forgive me."

Leliana smiled. "Farewell, Hawke. Keep yourself and your allies safe."

"I plan to. Perhaps I'll see you around Kirkwall sometime?"

"Anything is possible in this city," Leliana said. Then she brushed past the mage and headed for the door. In the room beyond, Varric was leaning against the doorframe with his crossbow slung over his back, obviously waiting for her.

"Thanks for all the help, Songbird," he said at her approach, moving aside with a respectful nod. "If you ever find yourself in need of a good place to lie low, stop by the Hanged Man in Lowtown. I'll make sure they keep a table open for you."

She smiled. "That is very kind of you, Varric. I may take you up on that offer."

"Yeah, well, we kind of owe you after you saved Daisy's skin back there. And I pay my debts."

Leliana nodded. "As do I, Varric. As do I."

Varric stared at his boots pensively for a few moments, then said, "Hey… before you disappear into the night, can I ask you something?"

"Whatever you wish, my friend."

"When you're all finished mage-wrangling, do you think I could write a book about you?"

She paused, words failing her. "Um… excuse me?"

"I'd need to interview you first. Very informal of course, just one-on-one stuff. I want to know more about your exploits as a bard and your travels with the Hero of Ferelden; if you're up to it, of course."

"Wait, wait… you want to write a _book_ about _me_?"

"Why not? You're an intriguing enough character. Perfect for a cloak-and-dagger adventure series. Just think of it: it could be called _The Ballad of Sister Nightingale_."

"No! Of course not! It would be… far too personal!"

Varric shot her a charming grin. "I don't know if you know this, Songbird, but I'm a world-class bullshitter. There doesn't have to be anything personal in it if you don't want. But imagine what a great tribute it would be to you and your friends: to be immortalized in the pages of a bestselling series of novels read the world over! Winning accolades and building up a fanbase of thousands!"

She had to admit, the thought did appeal to her. In Ferelden, Lyna was held to near-godhood; a symbol of justice and freedom and nobility that was far too idealized for her taste. Lyna's companions were all but forgotten – all save Alistair, but he was king after all.

The idea of people learning the true story, hearing about the _real_ Hero of Ferelden and the trials she faced… it was intriguing, but she still wasn't sold. "I don't… do you even have any experience with this sort of thing?"

"_Experience_?" the dwarf laughed. "Oh, you're too cute, Songbird. Haven't you ever heard of _Hard in Hightown?"_

Leliana's eyes widened. She had indeed heard of _Hard in Hightown_. Sometimes it seemed like everyone in the Free Marches had heard of that serial. "You mean you are _that_ Varric Tethras?"

The dwarf shrugged. "Unless there's some other Varric out there authoring books. Which is actually a kind of disturbing thought, now that I mention it…"

He hooked his thumbs into his belt. "So? What do you say?"

She chewed her lip, thinking hard over the decision. She eventually looked back to him and folded her arms over her chest.

"You… have my attention."

* * *

**Present**

"You know, Songbird, when I offered you that open seat at the Hanged Man, I didn't know you'd take me up on it just so you could send men to kidnap me."

Leliana grimaced. "I know. And I am… sorry. But we needed to speak with you, and the only place you reliably visit is that tavern."

"I'll just add that to your laundry list of lies and betrayals, shall I?"

"Oh don't be so melodramatic," Cassandra said with a customary scowl. She rested her hands on the pommel of the sword resting on her hip. "Continue with your story. I want to know more."

Varric raised an eyebrow. "Oh? The demon parts are over, Seeker. Just the _disgusting romance_, as you so aptly put it earlier. Not exactly priceless information there."

"I…" In the darkness of the room, Varric couldn't tell if it was rage coloring the Seeker's cheeks or an embarrassed blush. The stutter in her voice seemed to suggest the latter. "I-I merely wish to see this tale through to the end."

"If I recall, we'd left off Hawke's story at a pretty critical point. Maybe I should just move back to where we were—"

"_No_!" Cassandra put a hand to her mouth, obviously regretting her outcry. "W-what I meant to say was that… that you promised to tell me everything. What if the demon came back right at the last minute? I will not trust your word that it didn't."

"Seeker, all you're doing is trusting my word. Or did you forget the tale of the fire-sneezing apostate?"

"I… just continue the story."

He made a mock bow from his seat. "My audience commands and I humbly obey."

* * *

Hawke slipped into the room, glancing nervously over her shoulder. Varric was still deep in conversation with Leliana, making grand swooping gestures with his hands; obvious indication he was cooking up the plot of a new book, no doubt. If previous experiences held true, the other two would be distracted for more than enough time for her to say her piece.

Her voice was barely above a whisper as she quietly rapped her knuckles against the door frame. "Merrill? Are you still awake?"

"Yes." Merrill's voice was just as soft, but she was definitely awake, eyes wide as she stared, unblinking, up at the ceiling. "I'm awake."

"Can… can I talk to you?"

"I don't really want to talk, Marian."

"I know," Hawke grimaced. "It's just… it's important."

Merrill sighed and folded her hands over her stomach, her gaze not straying from their hold on the ceiling. "I suppose."

Hawke crept into the room, as if afraid the slightest noise would send Merrill into a rage. She settled into the chair Leliana had no doubt just deserted, rubbing her hands against her pants nervously. She licked her suddenly too-dry lips and said, "I… I'm sorry about your friend. Victory seemed… nice. And Lyna sounds like she was an incredible young woman."

Merrill didn't move. She didn't speak. She just continued staring at the ceiling.

Hawke squeezed her eyes shut. _Off to a great start, Marian. Maker, this was a bad idea. Just say what you need and be done with it._

"I-I wanted to talk," she cautiously began. She kept tripping over her words, mumbling and fumbling like a blushing teenager. She took a deep breath, cursing her nervousness, and forged ahead. "I wanted to talk about what happened in the Fade."

"And what do you want to talk about?" There was an edge to Merrill's voice that sent a shiver of apprehension through Hawke's body. "I find it hard to believe you want to revisit those memories again. Though I suppose you got a nicer version than I did."

Hawke winced. She was worried this would come back up. Maker, she had _told_ Varric this was a bad idea. "I'm sorry about that. I… I wasn't prepared."

"Was that it? Or was it just that Validation decided to show up as Isabela?"

"I… what?"

Merrill finally turned to look at her. Hawke was expecting anger, or grief, or even embarrassment. But she saw only a blank, apathetic look in Merrill's normally bright green eyes. "I haven't forgotten what you did, Hawke. With Validation… when she looked like Isabela. I… I thought more highly of you."

Hawke looked down at her feet, turning bright red. "I know. I'm sorry."

"So that's just supposed to make up for it? I thought… I thought we had something, Hawke."

She rested back against her pillows and shook her head. "I guess you have more of something with Isabela. It was stupid of me to think… to believe that I was… and you would…"

She squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm just a silly little girl who doesn't know anything about things like this. I need to stop talking and you need to leave."

"Merrill—"

The girl interrupted her. "I suppose all those things you said when I first woke up… those were all lies too?"

"No!" Hawke's heart was pounding now, frantically searching for a way to change Merrill's mind. This was all going wrong, falling apart right where she needed it to hold together. "Merrill, I meant every word that I said!"

Merrill glanced at her, then away again. "I don't know if I believe you, Hawke. I… I should never have kissed you. It was a mistake."

Hawke blanched, feeling like all sensation had fled from her body. "You don't mean that."

"Maybe I do."

"W-what can I do? What can I do to change your mind? I care about you, Merrill. A lot. And I want to make sure you know that."

She stared at Merrill, heart thudding in her ears. "Just… just tell me what to do. Tell me how I can make this better and I'll do it."

Merrill was silent for a long time. Then she closed her eyes, a sad look crossing her face for the span of a heartbeat. When she spoke, her voice was shaking.

"You can let me sleep. I… I'm too tired to deal with this right now."

Hawke stared at the elf, mouth agape in shock and pain. She had worried about being rejected, but… but never had she even entertained the idea that it would end like this.

She stared down at the ground, her head a whirling maelstrom of questions and accusations. Why couldn't Merrill see she was being honest? Why couldn't she understand that she regretted the decisions she'd made? That if she could take them back…

"Hawke," Merrill's voice was uncharacteristically stern. "You need to leave. Now."

"I…" Hawke tried to search for words. Some magical phrase, preferably in elvish, that could make this all better. But now, right when she needed them most, her quick wit and clever tongue failed her. No words came. When she finally did speak, her voice was small and defeated. "All right."

She fought keep the tears at bay as she rose from her seat and trudged back to the door with feet that felt like they were made of lead. A nauseous feeling had settled in the pit of her stomach, a tired kind of hurt that made her want to simply sit and do nothing but stare at the wall for the foreseeable future.

She paused at the doorway, her hand resting against the doorframe. She glanced back over her shoulder and, with a shaky voice, whispered, "I'm sorry if I upset you, Merrill. It… it won't happen again."

She heard Merrill let out a choked little sob of her own. But the elf made no move to take back what had been said. Hawke waited a moment longer, banking on the frail hope that it would all change in these last few moments.

But neither of them said anything. So Hawke stared at the floor and left.

"Sleep well, Merrill," she whispered. And then she was gone.

* * *

_Author's note: I had to do it. I'm not sorry._

_(Okay, maybe I'm a little sorry.)_


	29. A Songbird's Tears

**The Black Emporium**

Leliana stepped through the thick wooden door and into the sparse quarters she would call home for the foreseeable future. The door slammed shut behind her, followed by the comforting _thunk_ of the lock's bolt sliding home.

The room was small and cramped, but Leliana had lived in far worse conditions in the past. The important thing was that it was warm, safe, and – most important of all – inconspicuous. Less than fifteen minutes' walk from Xenon the Antiquarian's throne room, this small and long-abandoned complex of apartments once housed his many urchins. It would serve her purposes well.

She saw that one of the Antiquarian's urchins had left a message on her desk. She picked up the parchment and scanned through it quickly, noting the soft scent of Chantry incense wafting up from the paper.

_Sister Nightingale,_

_I was most surprised by your first report. Demons, blood mages, immortal relic merchants… you have been busy, haven't you?_

_While I cannot openly condone your actions in Kirkwall, I must commend you for your conduct over the course of your first investigation. While it sounds as if things did not go as smoothly as anticipated, I am glad that this Hawke and her companions did not have to be executed or made Tranquil. The greater the number of compassionate apostates in Kirkwall, the better._

_I hope you will find your new quarters more than adequate to continue your operations in the city. Bartering with this Xenon character was… most interesting. It cost no small sum for him to grant you access to his complex, but I am sure both parties left the bargain satisfied. I am surer than ever that your mission is of the utmost importance, and I spared no expense solidifying your cover within Kirkwall._

_I am very proud of you, my little Nightingale. I pray you will meet with equal success in all your future endeavors._

_You are always in my prayers,_

_Dorothea._

_P.S. If your reports were truly accurate, I would be most grateful if you could procure me a signed copy of _Hard in Hightown _from Master Tethras. It will be the envy of the entire Chantry!_

Leliana smiled at the letter and the hastily-written postscript. She considered burning it to ensure the message's security. But she hesitated a few moments, then folded the parchment in half and tucked it into her leather jerkin.

Turning her scrutiny back to her quarters, she noticed that the urchins had already unpacked all her belongings. Her ravens were cooing quietly in the corner, eager to set to their duties. Her inks and parchment were arranged neatly on the desk. And propped against one wall was her treasured rosewood lute, freshly oiled and restrung by Xenon's minions.

Dorothea's bargaining must have made Xenon very happy indeed. As she walked up to the instrument, she wondered just what priceless treasure Xenon had managed to swindle from the Chantry. She also wondered just how difficult it would be to steal back.

Abandoning such silly notions, she instead focused on the lute. Her fingers traced lightly over the strings for a moment before trailing up to the engraved dedication along the head of the instrument.

_May this gift wake your inner muse,_ it read_, and forever bring life to your song. – M._

She smiled the carved words, a stronger smile than she had thought possible when looking at the gift. In the past, the sight of the instrument and knowledge of whose kindness had brought it to her grasp had always left her feeling cold and sick inside.

The sight still made her feel sad, to be sure. But it was now a softer kind of grief; an almost bittersweet mix of grief and affection that left her chest swelling with both heartache and a strange, loving warmth.

She paused, debating with herself, then reached down and picked it up, cradling it tenderly in her arms. She moved back to her cot and sat down, resting the instrument on her thigh as she absently strummed at the strings. Perfectly in tune; no surprise there.

For a time, she lost herself in the feel of the lute, the comforting weight in her lap, and the gentle hum of the strings beneath her fingers. Before long, however, she found herself strumming the chords of a very familiar song. The melody filled the room, echoing down the halls of the Black Emporium as she began to play with more force and confidence.

Almost against her will, the words floated from her lips, the beautiful, lilting words flowing with a grace she had not felt in a very long time.

"_I feel sun though the ashes in the sky… where's the one who'll guide us into the night?"_

She paused, fingers scraping against the strings. She looked down at the lute, surprised at herself. She had not had a strong desire to play music in months. When the inclination did descend on her in those rare moments, she certainly did not wish to sing _this _song.

_One of the first songs I ever sang to her_, she thought. _I still remember the way her eyes lit up, the smile that pulled at the corners of her lips… It was always her favorite._

That memory hurt, but she felt the hurt, accepted it, instead of tamping it down into nothingness like she had done so often in the past. She felt as if she needed to feel it now, needed to acknowledge it rather than turn away and pretend she felt nothing.

When she did, it almost felt _right_, singing this song again. Like a little piece of Lyna was with her, still smiling at her and listening with rapt attention. An audience of one, just like it used to be.

So she smiled to herself, pulled the lute closer to her chest, and continued singing.

* * *

**Dalish Camp, Sundermount**

Merrill's heart was beating an almost painful rhythm against her chest as the clan gathered around her for the first time in almost a year. Thankfully, their attention wasn't on her. They were all focused on the funeral procession making its way through the camp.

It was a warm evening on Sundermount, the beautiful blazing orange of the sun just beginning to set behind the mountain. But Merrill was still shivering so hard it may as well have been the depths of winter. She had her hands clasped tightly in front her and her eyes fixed on the ground, not trusting herself to meet the angry gazes of those that surrounded her.

_They don't like it_, she thought. _But I had no choice. Mahariel must be properly mourned._

Together, the hunters brought the body forward, borne between them on a stretcher made of interwoven tree branches and lengths of vine. As they passed, members of the clan reached out and ghosted their fingers over the deceased's face or shoulders; one last farewell from the clan. As the hunters passed, Merrill reached out and caressed the hard wooden shoulder, keeping her eyes fixed on the ground.

There was no body to bury, of course; according to Leliana, Lyna's body had been taken far to the north to be buried with the other Grey Warden heroes in their fortress of Weisshaupt. At first, Merrill hadn't liked hearing the news; Lyna belonged with her people, not with some shadowy cult of warriors so far from her home.

But she couldn't change it, nor could the clan. So, as was customary with such funerals, the craftsmen of her people had spent days carving a near-exact likeness of Lyna from precious ironbark. Now, the hunters were bearing the statue forth to its – and Lyna's – final resting place.

The swelling chorus of _In Uthenera, _the ancient Dalish funeral dirge, surrounded her on all sides, both beautiful and mournful. Everyone had added their voices to the song as the hunters approached, save for Merrill and the guest sitting behind her; Leliana was resting on a rocky outcropping a few feet away, having been granted her request to accompany the song on her fancy-looking lute. The gentle chords of the song soothed Merrill's nerves, until she felt brave enough to look up and meet the Keeper's gaze.

She saw no acceptance there, no comforting warmth or approval. She hadn't expected any. She had openly asked her friends to keep the knowledge of her possession a secret; if her clan learned of her weakness in the face of demonic influence, she would never be allowed to return.

Still, one look at the Keeper and she almost believed Marethari knew anyway. At this point, Merrill almost didn't care. Today was not about her or Marethari; it was about sending Lyna to the Creators the way she always should have been. She was willing to focus on that, even if that meant meeting the Keeper's cold and disapproving gaze.

The hunters had reached Lyna's grave and silently flanked either side as the clan's song grew in a lamenting crescendo. Elves all around her lifted their heads to the sky and raised their voices in a song that seemed to shake the rocks around them with its power.

"_Vir sulahn'nehn… vir dirthera… vir samahl la numin… vir 'lath sa'vunin'…"_

Merrill couldn't stop herself. As Lyna's statue was lowered into the grave, she closed her eyes and sang along, adding her wavering soprano voice to the chorus. Behind her, she heard Leliana join her, the smooth resonance of her lilting song mixing with Merrill's own.

The elves around her began to sway back and forth, eyes closed as they lost themselves in the song and in fond memories of Lyna's life. Ashalle broke down before long and buried her face in her hands, weeping for the girl she saw as her daughter. Behind her, a haggard and weary-looking Hahren Paivel put a comforting hand on her shoulder, drawing her into a tight hug. Pol stood to one side, eyes dull and sad as he sang with all the rest. Fenarel, standing with the hunters next to the grave, had silent tears streaming down his cheeks.

Merrill squeezed her eyes shut and focused on the song, letting it wash away her sorrow. There was comfort in music, a strange soothing quality that she had found second only to music. So she sang, harder than she had ever felt brave enough to sing. Not because the clan expected her to or because Marethari would all but stripe her if she didn't, but because she _wanted_ to.

For Lyna.

The sun was setting behind the mountain as the hunters finished placing the last of the dirt over Lyna's statue, sealing her within the earth. _In Uthenera_ slowly died away to a hum as the clan bowed their heads in respect, offering prayers to the Creators and asking that Lyna be taken to their side without the Dread Wolf's interference.

Merrill looked at the ground and thought, _Creators… I've never been very talkative with any of you. I know I say the prayers and sing the songs but… but this time I want to ask for a favor."_

She hesitated, squeezing her hands in her lap._ If Lyna is up there with you… I want you to bring her a message from me. Tell her I'm sorry I was so angry when she left. Tell her I didn't understand, and that I know better know. I know why she had to leave. Tell her I never hated her for going away, and…_

She bit her lip, feeling the familiar surge of grief well up in the pit of her stomach. She fought it back and thought, _Tell her… tell her that I love her. Now and always._

Now Maren was approaching the grave, a small, twisting sapling in her hands. Merrill felt a strange anxiousness fill her at the Halla keeper's approach and before she knew it, she had stepped forward to stand in front of the red-haired woman. Maren stared at her in confusion until Merrill held out her hands and said, "May I?"

Maren looked to the Keeper for confirmation. After a few moments, Marethari reluctantly nodded. Maren nodded back and held out the sapling for Merrill to take.

Merrill's hands felt bloated and numb as she awkwardly took the sprout from Maren's calloused fingers. Then, with slow, measured steps, she turned and moved forward to the small hump of fresh dirt that was her oldest friend's grave. Once close enough, she sank to her knees.

She licked her dry lips as she slowly dug out a small hollow from the dirt and rested the sapling inside it. With careful, gentle movements, she buried the roots and patted down the dirt so the sapling wouldn't fall. After a few long moments, the tiny seedling was standing all on its own. In time, it would grow to be a mighty tree that stretched high into the air overlooking the rest of Sundermount. It would be beautiful.

The grief came roaring back and she hunched her shoulders as a strangled sob tore itself from her throat. At first she thought it had been lost in the gentle hum of the song behind her, but she felt a soft, comforting hand fall on her shoulder.

She sniffed, thinking, _Marethari?_

But it was Leliana who knelt in the grass next to her, her face drawn and somber but her eyes dry of tears. She flashed Merrill a half-hearted smile and murmured, "I wanted to… pay my own respects. Is that allowed?"

Merrill nodded slowly, squeezing her eyes shut as she listened to _In Uthenera _fade away into silence behind her. She heard the sound of leather armor shuffling as Leliana reached up and pulled a small locket from around her neck. The bard cradled it in her hands for a moment before handing it to Merrill.

"This belonged to her," she said. "They gave it to her shortly after her Joining. She called it _Warden's Oath_."

Merrill traced her thumb over the intricate carvings that adorned the silverite locket. The amulet seemed to vibrate in her hands, thrumming with powerful magic. It made her fingertips tingle in a pleasant, shivery buzz.

"It's… beautiful,"

"She gave it to me," Leliana said. "The night before… She said that whoever carried it would carry a piece of her with them."

"A beautiful sentiment," Merrill whispered.

"I want you to have it."

"What?" Her eyes widened as Leliana held the locket out for her to take. "No! No, no. You were her bondmate! I could never take this!"

But the woman caught her hands and gently curled her fingers around the locket. "Merrill… grant me this, please. You need it far more than I do. It would make me very happy to know it was cherished in your hands."

Merrill swallowed loudly, looking down at her hands. "If… only if you're sure."

"I am."

She reluctantly nodded, then reached up and linked the chain around her neck. "All right. I will wear it with honor."

Leliana smiled. "I am sure you will, child."

Merrill didn't let go of Leliana's hand as the two continued kneeling together before the fresh grave. Merrill could hear the clan shuffling and breaking up behind them, wandering away to return to their duties before night fell. She didn't turn to bid them farewell, just as none called to her. It suited her just fine.

"It…" Merrill cleared her throat. "I'm glad the Keeper let you attend."

Leliana smiled. "As am I. The service was beautiful."

"I only wish…" _I only wish Hawke could be here_.

No. She wouldn't say that. She didn't wish that at all. This was a procession for her clan and those who knew Lyna. Hawke had no place here.

_Still_, she found herself thinking_, it would have been… comforting for her to be here. Standing with me, holding my hand, helping me say good-bye…_

No. She didn't need Marian for that. She was capable of saying farewell all on her own.

She cleared her throat again and said, "I only wish we didn't have to be here in the first place."

"I wish that too," Leliana said softly, a deep undercurrent of sorrow beneath her voice. "But we cannot change the past. We can only look to the future and have faith that the Maker – or the Creators – will lead us through the dark days to come."

"Will… will I see you again?"

Leliana laughed as she rose to her feet. "Anything is possible, Merrill."

Merrill rose as well, then suddenly threw her arms around Leliana's waist. Leliana stiffened, obviously not expecting such an affectionate display. But Merrill held her tight and murmured, "Thank you, Lady Nightingale."

"For what?"

"For taking care of Lyna. For making her feel accepted and… and loved."

Leliana gently pushed Merrill away, smiling warmly at her. "It was the privilege of my life, Merrill."

With a gentle laugh, she gave the elven girl a gentle nudge back towards camp. "We should return to the others. It is growing dark, and your clan will be expecting you. I will be right behind you."

Merrill nodded and shuffled after the rest of her people. When she didn't feel Leliana follow, she turned to find the bard leaning over the grave one last time. She was finally letting the tears fall, hunched over the grave with her eyes closed and her head bowed. Merrill considered stepping back after her until she saw the bard's lips moving. Her honed elven senses picked up the human's words, though they were little more than a whisper.

"_Adieu, mon cher amour,"_ she murmured, her voice shaking just a little. After Leliana had rejoined her, Merrill considered asking what the strangely lyrical foreign words meant. But she thought better of it and held her tongue. Some things didn't need to be translated. Some things, Merrill could understand just fine.

* * *

**The Hanged Man**

Night fell, and once again Hawke found herself lying face-down on the Hanged Man's bar, her forehead pressed to the comfortingly rough grain of the wood. A half-empty bottle of rum was clutched with a death grip in one hand.

"_I suppose all those things you said when I first woke up were all lies too?"_

She grimaced and shook her head, grinding her nose uncomfortably against the bartop. "No… no, I didn't…"

_"__It was stupid of me to think… to believe that I was… and you would…"_

Tears began to leak from between her eyelids, squeezed shut hard against the memories snaking into her booze-addled mind. She shook her head again and said, "No, I didn't mean it…"

_"__Hawke. You need to leave. Now."_

She put one hand over her head, like a child covering her head from the swat of an annoyed parent. "I'm sorry... so sorry."

_"__Hawke_," Merrill insisted. "_You need to leave."_

A rough hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled hard. She let out a shout and blindly swung her bottle at her attacker. She heard a surprised exclamation, but someone grabbed the bottle away before she did serious damage.

Hawke swayed, eyes bleary and narrowed against the glare of the Hanged Man's lights. In her wavering, hazy vision, she saw a familiar white jerkin and blue bandana. As soon as she saw it, she sighed and turned back to the bar, her face hitting the bartop with a dull _thud_ that rattled the glasses further down.

"Well, well," Isabela cooed, sliding into the seat next to her. "Someone's having a bad day."

Hawke reached out and beckoned with one hand. "Give me back the bloody bottle."

"Hawke, it's far too early in the evening to be this drunk."

"Not as drunk as you think I am," Hawke growled, reaching out and snatching the bottle from Isabela's grasp. She tucked it against her shoulder, wrapping her hands protectively around the cool glass neck. "Not nearly as drunk as I _want_ to be."

"You can still speak halfway decently at least," Isabela confirmed. "So just what has my fearless leader in such a dreadful flump? We just killed a _demon_. Shouldn't you be happy-drunk instead of mopey-drunk?"

Hawke considered telling her everything. Isabela liked Merrill, right? She called her _Kitten._ Would she be able to talk some sense into the infuriating little elf?

But no. It was a terrible idea, just like the thousand others she had thought up half a bottle ago. So she settled for a dark scowl and a muttered, "None of your bloody business."

"Ouch. Someone's drunk _and_ cranky."

Isabela gestured to the bartender, who slid a shot glass of amber-colored liquid to her. She slapped a few coppers on the bartop and kicked back the glass in a single swig. "So," she said, grimacing against the taste. "Whatever it is that's got you in such a state… you want my help with it?"

"Maker," Marian groaned. "No."

Isabela ordered another glass. "Would killing something make it better?"

"Don't think so. Haven't tried. Yet."

Another glass. "What about some…" her voice took on a husky edge, "pleasurable company? To take your mind off of things?"

"The Rose is on the other side of town," Hawke complained. "And even if I could stagger my way over there without being caught by Templars, Cora's not working tonight."

She shivered when she felt the gentle touch of a fingertip tracing up her arm. Isabela's sultry voice brushed against her ear. "I was thinking something a little… closer to home."

Hawke pushed Isabela's hand away. "I just want to drink until I can't cry 'cause I'm too busy throwing up."

"A sound plan," Isabela admitted. Another glass was downed in a single gulp. "Very popular plan, that one. Hell, I might just join you."

They drank in silence for a time. But after Hawke downed another gulp of rum (and almost lost her lunch in the process) she slumped against the bar with a world-weary sigh. She swallowed with difficulty and whimpered, "Isabela… can I ask you a question?"

"Whatever you want to ask, Hawke," the other woman replied. "As long as it's not about Qunari, politics, or Anders' manifesto."

"Am I a bad person?"

When Isabela didn't answer right away, Hawke glanced over at her from her place against bartop. The piratess was staring at her with a confused frown. She tilted her head to one side, her earrings jangling as she did. "What brought _that_ on, Marian?"

Hawke raised her bottle, shook it for emphasis. "This, I'd imagine."

"You know what I mean."

"I don't…" she huffed out a short sigh. "I just want to be _happy_. Mother's found got her old estate in Hightown, Carver's run off to join the Templars, Merrill's finally free of that demon… And they're all _happy_."

She blinked blurry tears away. "When is it my turn? When do I get to find something that makes _me_ happy? Some_one_ that makes me happy?"

"You… you don't have anything? Anyone?" Isabela sounded genuinely surprised.

Hawke scoffed. "Unless you count Cora. And I fucking _pay_ her to be nice to me. How pathetic is that?"

"I'm sure—"

Hawke shook her head, sniffing morosely as she took another pull from her bottle. "Maybe Fenris is right. Maybe apostates never get to have peace unless they're either dead, Tranquil, or locked up in the tower."

"All right, rich girl," Isabela reached over and pulled the bottle of rum from Hawke's grasp, not without protest from the mage. "That's enough of the dizzy water for one night."

Hawke collapsed against the bar in defeat, burying her face in her hands as her voice began to shake with the first weak sobs that signaled a much larger outpouring. "I-I just want to feel _needed _for once. And I want it without being afraid I'm going to _lose_ it."

She sniffed, thinking of Merrill again. _You need to leave, Hawke. Now._

"I thought I had a chance at that," she murmured, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and smearing what little makeup she wore in the process. "I guess I was wrong."

She felt Isabela's hand fall on her shoulder again. She glanced up to say more, but was cut off when Isabela suddenly grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her into a smoldering kiss. Hawke's eyes flashed open and she made a small, strangled sound of surprise and discomfort. Isabela ignored her, kissing her with a passion and intensity Hawke had never felt before.

_I thought we had something, Hawke. I guess you have more of something with Isabela._

When the pirate queen eventually pulled back, she squeezed Hawke's shoulders and fixed her with an intense and insistent stare.

"Now you listen to me, rich girl. You are _not _a bad person. You're a sarcastic ass and you have no idea how to do your own makeup. Your dog smells, your brother's a tit, and your hair looks like you cut it with garden shears—"

Hawke scoffed indignantly, still a little lightheaded from the kiss. "It does not!"

"—but," 'Bela continued, "_none_ of that makes you a bad person. You make mistakes just like the rest of us. And you fix those mistakes just like the rest of us. You're not some goddess, Marian. You're a _person_. And you need to wake up and see that means you get to stumble sometimes."

"I don't—"

"I won't try and find out what's got you so deep in the dumps," Isabela interrupted. "But I know what I can do to help."

She reached down and grabbed Hawke's hand, squeezing it tight with her own calloused fingers. She gently tugged Hawke away from the bar, leading her with sure and steady footsteps to the stairs at the back of the tavern. She glanced over her shoulder and called to the bartender, "Corff! I'm taking room two for the night!"

"You got it, Captain."

"'Bela," Hawke murmured, trying very hard not to stumble and fall down, "what… what are you doing?"

"Comforting my gloomy friend the only way I know how," the dark-haired woman replied, "before she moans and groans herself to a premature death by melancholy."

"I wasn't _moaning_."

Isabela shot her a radiant grin. "You will be."

Hawke knew she shouldn't spend the night with Isabela. She knew it was the booze that was telling her she needed this, wanted this. The pirate queen had had an eye on her for months now, it was no secret. This was just as much for 'Bela's enjoyment as it was for Hawke.

But 'Bela was _here_, offering some small shadow of love with no strings attached. Hawke didn't have to worry about upsetting her or insulting her or saying the wrong things. She didn't have to agonize over making the right decisions and constantly worry if she said something that would hurt their relationship. 'Bela wanted her as she was, and as such she could truly be herself without fearing the consequences. Isabela was simple. Isabela was safe.

Did that make this all right, even though she knew she would spend the entire night wishing she was with someone else?

But as 'Bela led her into their rented room, as the pirate queen eased her back against the soft and comfortable mattress and stretched out above her with a hungry smirk, she decided it didn't matter. She would take something solely for herself and pretend – at least for the night – that there was someone who loved her for her mistakes as much as her victories. Let the consequences be damned.

She had earned that much.


	30. No Shit (FINAL)

**Merrill's Apartment (Lowtown)**

"This is a bad idea."

Merrill sighed. "I know you think so, but—"

"You realize every time he's come out in the past, he's killed someone?"

"Not last time! Last time he was perfectly civil. Nice, even."

Anders sighed and rubbed his temples. "I don't want to do this."

"I _know_. But… but I have questions for him. Important ones that even you can't answer. I need to talk to him. Now. That's why I asked you to visit me here."

The feathery mage sighed again as he scratched at Ser Prowls-a-lot's head. The cat, who had tagged along for the trip to Merrill's home, purred and arched against his fingers, letting out a contented mewl. Anders picked up the black-furred feline and set him on the ground, safely out of the way. "All right. You win. Just… give me a moment. He doesn't usually come willingly."

"Just tell him I want to talk to him," Merrill said. "That should be enough."

"All right… I'll try…"

Anders closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Merrill waited with baited breath for a few moments, watching his every move as if she were trying to commit it all to memory. After a short time, the mage's breath hitched and his brows furrowed like he was in pain. His hands clenched into fists against the rough wooden tabletop, and his muscles began to quiver.

A second later there was a resounding _boom_ and a burst of blue-white fire consumed his body. Lighting flared to life beneath his skin and when he opened his eyes again they were filled with glowing sapphire light. He looked up to meet Merrill's gaze, and when he spoke it was with Justice's deep, booming snarl.

"Why have you summoned me?" the spirit said through Anders' lips.

"Because…" Merrill bit her lip. "Because I have questions."

"I would have thought you would still be resting after your ordeal."

"It was distracting, being cooped up in bed all day. I wanted some fresh air."

Justice regarded her coldly. "So you chose to pester me? I have much to do within the Fade, even after our triumph over Validation."

"I know. But… but I want to know how things have changed since she was killed. I _need_ to know."

"Very well. Ask what you will."

Merrill's heart quickened with equal parts anticipation and anxiety. "How are things? Peaceful?"

"Validation's demon army has vanished into the depths of the Fade," Justice confirmed. "The tower she once called her fortress has been torn down, never to be rebuilt. Those displaced by her evil now flock to my refuge, taking shelter under my protection."

"And the others? Who else survived the battle?"

"Many Valor spirits were slain," Justice said, a grim tone sneaking into his voice. "As were many other friends of mine; spirits and demons both. But we will mourn their loss and rebuild in their honor. It is the way of things."

The spirit paused, then added, "It will please you to know that Resolve managed to survive the battle. His aid in the reconstruction of my refuge has been most helpful, and many of his former compatriots among the Sloth demons have also lent their aid to our cause."

"Really?" Merrill grinned. "Oh, it's so good to know he survived. When Victory sent him down to the courtyard to fight, I thought…"

"Turn your mind away from such thoughts, little elf," Justice said. "He survived. There is nothing else to say."

"Right. Right." She bit her lip, debating whether to ask the next question that came to mind. She decided the pain of not knowing was far more frightening.

"And… has there been anything about Victory?"

Justice didn't move, though a knowing look entered his blazing blue-white eyes. "You ask if she has reappeared."

"I-I know death doesn't affect spirits the same way it does us mortals. I was just wondering…"

"The answer is no. She has not reconstituted within the Fade. Even if she did, she would not be as she was."

"What do you mean?"

"She would be born anew; a fresh, clean slate to be strengthened or corrupted as the world saw fit. She would have no memory of what transpired within Validation's tower or the final bout with Validation."

"I know," Merrill reluctantly admitted. "But… but it would still be _her_, right? She would still be the same person."

Justice smiled a little at that and murmured, "That, my friend, is all a matter of perception."

Merrill stared at him, then nodded and clasped her hands in her lap. "Thank you, Justice. I won't take up more of your time. I'm glad things are going well for you in the Fade."

Justice inclined his head. "Your deeds will not be forgotten, mortal. You have allies here, both among the spirits and demons. You have done us a great service, and we shall not easily turn from that debt."

"You're too kind. Although…"

Justice's eyes narrowed. "What?"

Merrill felt a blush warm her cheeks. "There… there is a way you could repay me. Only if you wanted to, of course."

"What would you ask of us?"

"Do you know of any beings who are good at fixing things? Spirits or demons who have experience with… with magical relics?"

"You have a talisman that needs renewed power? An object in need of enchanting? That hardly seems worth the trouble you went through to free us."

Merrill turned and looked over her shoulder. Through the doorway to her bedroom, she could just make out the swooping arches and intricate carvings of the Eluvian. It resonated with powerful magic, even from this distance.

She licked her suddenly dry lips. "That wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

* * *

**The Hanged Man (Two weeks later)**

Marian stepped through the doors to the tavern, closing her eyes as she let the warm scents and the dull roar of evening conversation wash over her and soothe the stress of the day. Several of the other regulars nodded to her as she passed, greeting her with tipped mugs and murmurs of, "Hawke."

Varric was already waiting for her at the table near the back, a deck of Wicked Grace cards splayed out on the table in front of him. Isabela and Aveline were there too, as was a weary-looking Anders. Fenris had yet to show up for one of their weekly games, and she wasn't sure they'd be seeing Carver or Merrill, especially considering everything that had happened in recent weeks.

She settled into her seat, ordering a mug of her usual from Corff the bartender with a raised hand and a nod. Varric instantly slid a hand of cards across to her with a wink and a roguish grin.

"We almost thought you weren't coming, Hawke," Aveline said as they raised their cards and the game began. She kept an eye on Isabela, who had a knack for spying on other people's hands while no one was looking. "You were more than fashionably late."

"I was busy," Hawke replied. "Mother's hell-bent on moving in to the old estate by the end of the month. It's all I can do to stop her from running up to Hightown now."

Varric chuckled as he drew another card. "Can anyone blame her? I'd run twice the distance in nothing but my smallclothes if it meant getting out of your Uncle Gamlen's company earlier than expected."

"He grows on you," Hawke assured him. "Once you learn to look past the smell, the constant booze-breath, and the moldy clothes… and the constant grousing about money."

Aveline chipped in. "And the insulting comments about how women should stay in the kitchens."

Isabela, too. "And the constant attempts to touch me."

"And the endless jokes about how short I am," Varric added.

"And the anti-mage drivel he spouts." Anders this time.

"And the constant attempts to _touch_ me. Seriously, do I have to take his hand for him to get the hint? Just because I dress like this doesn't mean I'm available to _everyone_."

Anders snorted. "Hmph. Could have fooled me."

Hawke frowned at her cards. "When you put it that way, I find it hard to disagree with you."

Isabela threw a silver into the betting pile. "So what's the new place like? The estate in Hightown, I mean."

Hawke pulled a face while Corff delivered her the drink she had ordered. "Dusty. I almost can't breathe in there. And the paint's peeling from the walls. We'll have to do some renovations before it's completely livable."

Varric glared at her. "Why are you looking at me? I've already spent enough time trying to smell-proof your room in your uncle's house."

"Well you're almost good at it," Hawke insisted, throwing her own silver into the pile. "How do dwarves keep the stench of the Deep Roads out of Orzammar?"

"We burn shit. Eventually the stench of smoke overpowers anything else."

Anders laughed. "See, Hawke? All you have to do is burn Gamlen's hovel to the ground and the problem's solved."

"I can think of a few people who would actually think that a viable plan." Hawke rolled her eyes as she sipped at her drink. "But… the estate is nice. I think, in time, that it can be more than just another hideout to keep away from Templars. It could be… I don't know. A home."

Varric looked at her with a knowing stare. "You sound as if you haven't had many of those."

"I haven't," she admitted. "But there's a first time for everything, right?"

Isabela slung an arm around her shoulders in an attempt to both comfort her and get a peek at her cards. "I think you'll find that this merry band of misfits grows on you. I mean, what would you do without us?"

"Win more games of cards, for one."

They played in silence for a while before Hawke cleared her throat awkwardly. "So… has anyone heard from Merrill?"

Varric shook his head, his tongue between his teeth as he concentrated. "I invited her to the game, but she said she had important things to deal with. She isn't going to be joining us."

Part of Hawke was disappointed to hear it. Another part was incredibly relieved. She hadn't tried to talk to Merrill since their parting after the exorcism. She'd heard the little elf had travelled with Lady Nightingale to Sundermount, to attend a funeral service for their mutual friend Lyna. Since then, she'd seen nothing of either woman.

It didn't surprise Hawke that Leliana had gone underground so quickly. The woman was many things, but conspicuous she was not. The only contact she'd had from the bard since parting ways was a single letter sent to Gamlen's shack a few days before, delivered by a small child that looked mysteriously like one of Xenon the Antiquarian's urchins.

_Marian_, it had read. _If you are receiving this letter, then it has managed to successfully reach your home without being intercepted by Chantry agents. I have been expressly forbidden from conversing with you again, as it is a threat to my cover within the city. However, I feel you deserve more than that. You have earned my respect, and that is not so easily tossed aside._

_I wanted to apologize one last time. When I first met you, I allowed my devotion to my mandate to cloud my judgement. I see now that you sought nothing other than to free your friend. You were doing no harm, and you did not deserve the fate I had planned for you. For betraying your trust and seeking to bring harm to you and your allies, I offer you my deepest apologies._

_I know I was not the easiest person to work with. I lied to you. I withheld information from you. I would have killed you, given the chance. But I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me for these faults. If given the chance to repeat these past few days, many things would be different._

_I wanted you to know that because of the time I spent with you, I am now looking at your fellow apostates with a much more objective light. I have investigated three more in the days since parting and all seek only to help others – strangely, two of the three mentioned you by name and claimed they wished to follow your example. None of their dealings were as exciting – or life-threatening – as yours, however._

_You are doing great things, Marian, both in your deeds and the image you present to your fellows. You are a gift this city does not deserve._

_I hope we will be given the chance to meet again. I hope that when that time comes, you will be as glad to see me as I will be to see you. Until that day, know that traveling with you was a rare privilege I will not soon forget._

_Your friend,_

_Leliana_

Hawke had kept the letter, feeling a strange warmth whenever she read it. Those last words, _your friend_, held on with a particular stubbornness. She was definitely one of the most dangerous people Hawke had ever met, not to mention one of the most devious, but… Leliana _was_ a friend. Not one Hawke would have expected to make, but a friend nonetheless.

She wondered for a moment if Leliana had the power to talk to Merrill on her behalf. After all, the two seemed to get along swimmingly. But she quickly discarded the idea. The bond the two shared was one borne of tragedy, and that was not a tie Marian was willing to manipulate for her own gain.

No, this mess with Merrill was her fault, and therefore it was her responsibility to fix it. The only question was how, particularly after she had done such a magnificent job of setting their friendship ablaze.

Isabela's company the past few days had done little to ease her pain. Of course, the sleepless nights of passionate lovemaking felt good, but she knew all along that Isabela was just using her. She was trying to help in her own way, but it was still a manipulation. Marian didn't hold it against the pirate, but she also didn't hold any illusions that their couplings would grow into anything more than basic stress relief.

And every time Isabela rose from the bed to dress and prepare for the day, every time the piratess turned her back on Marian and left her to her own devices, Hawke found herself wishing with all her heart that the dark-skinned Rivaini was instead an adorable, skinny little Dalish. She couldn't tear her mind away from the thought.

There was a basic attraction that made their intimate get-togethers far from unpleasant, but Hawke simply didn't _want_ Isabela. She wanted Merrill. And no matter what she did, she couldn't turn away from that.

But then she kept returning to that night in Merrill's apartment. To the cold look in the elf's eyes and the quiver in her voice as she said, "_"Hawke. You need to leave. Now."_

She sighed and squeezed her eyes shut. As much as she wished things were different, whatever she and Merrill had was gone. It was over and done with, and it was most likely never coming back. Hanging herself up over it was just stupid. She needed to move on.

When she opened her eyes again, she looked up to find everyone staring at her.

"What?"

Varric nodded at her cards. "It's your turn. We've been waiting on you."

"Oh." Hawke blushed. "Sorry. I was… thinking."

Isabela threw her a seductive smile, her voice low and husky as she murmured, "Oh? About anything in particular?"

"It was nothing. Just… thinking."

The piratess leaned over and nudged Anders' shoulder. "You know what that means."

"Not really," said a very familiar, wavering voice from behind them. "Is it something dirty?"

Everyone turned to find Merrill standing near their table, hands linked in front of her and a blush spreading across her tattooed cheeks. She shifted nervously from foot to foot, bouncing on her heels a little.

"I'm sorry," she quickly said. "I didn't mean to interrupt. But most of the time when Isabela says, _You know that that means_, I don't actually know what _that_ means. Mostly because it's dirty, and I'm not good at—"

Varric laughed interrupting her. "Daisy! I thought you weren't coming! Pull up a chair and we'll deal you in."

"That's very kind of you." Merrill slid into the empty seat next to Hawke, folding her fingers on the tabletop as Varric passed her several cards. "I was thinking of just staying in tonight, but… I decided it would be better to get some fresh air."

"And Lowtown was your choice for a nighttime stroll?" Anders smirked. "I have to question your judgement."

"Well," Merrill glanced over at Hawke, then blushed and looked down at her lap. "I thought it would be nice to see some friendly faces, too. I figured it would be better to come here than get lost in the Viscount's gardens again."

"For what it's worth," Hawke said slowly, "it's good to see you again. I'm glad you decided to join us, Merrill."

"It's… it's good to see you too, Marian. I'm glad to be here. _Actually_ here, without a demon crawling around in my head."

She glanced up and met the human woman's steel-grey gaze. "It occurs to me that I never properly thanked you, Hawke."

"You don't need to thank—"

"No, this time I do," Merrill interrupted. "I would never have escaped without your help. And everyone else's help of course. You all came to help me when I needed it the most, and…"

She reached over and patted Hawke's hand, the simple touch sending a thrill through Marian's system. "And I'm lucky to have friends like you. Thank you."

The bony elf blushed even deeper as she turned her attention to her cards. "There, now I've made everything all awkward. I'll just shut up now and try to remember how to play this game."

Hawke stared at the girl, then smiled and turned to her own cards. But before they could begin, the sound of scraping wood drew their attention. Varric was pushing a mug of dark-colored liquid across the table to Merrill.

The elven mage cocked her head. Then her eyes widened as she saw just what Varric was passing to her.

"Varric…" she whispered. "That's the Storyteller Mug."

"Sharp eyes, Daisy."

"B-but only the people with the best stories get to drink from that!"

"That's why I'm giving it to you," Varric said with a grin. "Because if memory serves, you've got a doozy of a story to tell us."

"_Yes_!" Isabela clapped her hands. "Tell us exactly what happened after you were sucked away by that evil demon. Every last sordid detail, leave _nothing_ out."

Hawke grinned along with all the others as Merrill reached out with quivering fingers to lift the mug to her lips. She sipped at the rum within, grimacing at the bitter taste. "A-all right…" she said slowly. "But I'm not sure I'm very good at this kind of thing."

"I think you'll tell it well," Anders said. "You were the only one there, after all."

"Well, all right… Um, when Hawke, Varric, and Anders were still fighting Greed—"

"Uh-uh-uh," Varric interrupted her with a smirk. "You know how you have to start this tale."

Merrill blinked, then her face broke into a wide, happy smile. She narrowed her eyes to conspiratorial slits as she hunched low over the Storyteller's Mug. She spread her arms wide and lowered her voice to a gravelly hiss.

"_No shit_!" she growled. "_There I was…"_

* * *

**Present**

Varric settled back in his seat, folding his hands behind his head as he kicked one leg over his other knee. "There you go, Seeker. The _whole story_, from beginning to end. I trust it was sufficient?"

"But… but Merrill and Hawke did not…"

"Didn't what? Wind up together? That came _later_, Seeker."

"But –"

"I would have thought you'd be far more interested in what became of Validation."

Cassandra sputtered indignantly. "Well, obviously, of course I am! I just thought it prevalent to note the… the important moments of the Champions personal life, because they would…"

"Uh-huh," Varric smirked at her. "Tell yourself whatever you want, Seeker. I know a fan when I see one. What're they calling that sort of thing these days? _Shipping?_"

"Shut up."

Leliana came to her stumbling friend's aid. "What did become of Validation? Spirits can reconstitute within the Fade even after death. Did she return?"

Varric shrugged. "Justice kept a pretty close eye on things after she split, but he didn't see any sign of her. Though he did notice a spirit of Humility appear at his sanctuary shortly after Validation was killed."

"Humility," Leliana said, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. "That was the demon's original form, was it not? Before she was corrupted by her own pride and hatred?"

"Got it on the nose, Songbird."

"So she did return?" Cassandra demanded, trying furiously to hide the blush crawling up her cheeks. "Validation still lives?"

"No, Seeker. Validation's dead as dead can be. But the _idea_ that gave birth to her came back in its purer form. It's more peaceful form."

"And what is that? Simple humility?"

"Nothing is simple when it comes to the Fade, Seeker. Humility is more than just being bashful and meek; it's acknowledging when others have wronged you and having the courage to forgive them for it. It's having the strength to have wrong done to you, but _not_ rise to claim revenge. To turn the other cheek and simply _be_ hurt rather than hurt another."

He chuckled. "Is it so surprising to see that Humility returned so quickly? There was a lot of forgiveness going around after Validation was killed."

"Oh? How so?"

He sighed, shaking his head with a smirk. "Have you not been paying attention, Seeker? How do you think Merrill freed herself from Validation in the first place? It went far deeper than just cutting her head off."

"Do explain," Leliana urged him.

"She had to _forgive_. She forgave Lyna for leaving her all those years ago, forgave Victory for sending so many spirits to die in the battle for the tower. She forgave Hawke for sleeping with not-Isabela when she was trapped in the demon's nightmare, even though it had to be brought back up later."

He shifted in his uncomfortable seat, folding his arms across his chest. "Those emotional wounds, those unforgiven faults, were what tied Validation to Merrill's mind. Once she moved past them, learned to treat others with humility and compassion, Validation had nothing left to hold on to. The emotional scars that Justice mentioned in the Fade were gone. So when Validation got a bit taken off the top, she couldn't just jump to a new fault."

He continued. "Meanwhile, Hawke forgave Leliana for plotting against us all, and she forgave Merrill for hurting her so badly after she was free. You can see how it was all so lovey-dovey that Validation's purer form just couldn't stay away."

"But _did_ Hawke and Merrill forgive each other?" Cassandra said with a frown. "It didn't seem like it. It seemed that the two simply refused to speak of it again."

Varric adjusted the glove on one hand. "There… might have been a flower delivery or two to Merrill's apartment after everything was over. Andraste's Grace, from an anonymous donor."

Leliana smiled knowingly. "And how were they received?"

"Let's just say they survived much longer this time around."

Cassandra sighed and rubbed her eyes wearily. "This is… quite the tale you have spun for us, Varric. I'm not sure whether I believe even half of it."

"You'll have to take my word for it, then. Have I led you astray so far?"

"No, but… forgive me. How could Merrill and Hawke still become lovers after so much had happened to them? How could they continue after Merrill had gone through so much?"

Varric grinned. "That, my dear Seeker, is a tale for another time."

Cassandra scowled at him, her face hardening to its usual stony demeanor. She turned back to Leliana and said, "Thank you for your part in retelling this tale, Sister. I can take it from here."

Leliana nodded, drawing her hood back over her head. "I will return to the war effort and coordinate the men in preparation for the Conclave. I will be in touch." The Nightingale nodded to Varric and murmured, "Varric, it is always a pleasure. Even under these circumstances."

He grudgingly nodded. "Right back at you, Songbird."

Leliana smiled at him, then stepped away and blended back into the shadows. Within the blink of an eye, it was as if she had never been there in the first place. Cassandra stared at the spot she had occupied for a few long moments, a distracted look in her eyes. Then she turned that burning gaze on him again and stepped forward.

"Very well, Varric," she said. "You have sated my curiosity. But there is more of Hawke's story I wish to learn. Continue with your tale."

He nodded, all too happy to return to his storytelling. "Very well, Seeker. So where did we leave our gallant Champion?"

He rubbed at his chin, then clapped his hands as the story returned to him. "That's where we were! So Hawke and I were heading uptown to visit Fenris one day…"

* * *

_To be continued in Dragon Age: Matters of the Heart…_


	31. Acknowledgements and Credits

_Acknowledgements and Credits_

Wow. This has been an experience, hasn't it? This story was originally intended to be much shorter, around the length of the original _Price of Defiance_ entry. But it soon grew and grew into a massive undertaking. Nevertheless, it was a joy to write, and I owe that all to you.

_Shadows Within_ has received more feedback than any other story I've written to date. It has been read, favorited, and reviewed by over five thousand people at this writing, and the magnitude of responses to this story is nothing short of staggering.

I want to thank you all for sticking with me through the delays, the re-writes, and the poor chapter entries that it took to reach this conclusion. I humbly thank you from the bottom of my heart. Your feedback helped make this storyteller very happy.

I want to thank several reviewers in particular, as their incredible reviews and awesome comments deserve special recognition here. Shout-outs go to:

\- **The Phoenix King**, author of _The Grey Path_, for his insightful and very knowledgeable comments about personification and character voice. Few reviewers I've encountered actually work to improve the authors they review, and his comments always helped me to improve things for the next installment both in a technical and thematic sense. Definitely check out his own Dragon Age work. It's well worth the time.

\- **ChaosSpartan575**, author of _I Am No Hero, _who is one of my most devoted reviewers. It is always nice to hear from such a kind and enthusiastic reader, and it was great to see a familiar face (or avatar, I guess) jump on the bandwagon for this story. _Vor'e, vod_. :D

\- **Aeowyn99**, author of _The Lies that Keep Us Broken_. It was a delight to converse with her, and her own story (which is beautifully written, by the way, definitely check it out) provided a massive inspiration for much of the Leliana/Mahariel relationship in this story.

\- And finally, **Nukes N Noodles**, author of _Of Things Left Unsaid, _for so many excited and quite frankly blunt reviews. Leliana wouldn't have been half as likable by the end of the story without his awesome review pointing out, "It's getting incredibly hard not to hate Leliana with a passion at this point. I mean really, what a stone cold bitch_._" I've never been so pleased to have one of my characters be hated, even temporarily. Thank you for that, I mean it! :)

And of course, thank you to all my other reviewers and everyone else to took time out of their day to even so much as skim over this story. _Shadows Within_ served as a great reminder of why I love to write fanfiction and why I love to write in the first place: the people. You all made this a fantastic experience for me, and because of that expect more in the future! I'm not done telling my Hawke's story yet. I hope to see you all next time!

And now that the mushy thank-yous are out of the way, time for the important stuff:

**I do not, and have never claimed to, own anything from Dragon Age that is not of my own creation. Dragon Age and all related characters, locations, events, etc, belong solely to Bioware and EA games.**

There we go. I hope you all enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Until next time, happy reading.

\- Vhetin1138


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